


You're the Constant in My Life

by abstractelysium



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Chapter Notes include Content Warnings, Drabble Collection, Firsts, Fluff, M/M, Mostly Canon Inspired, Prompt Fic, Smut, author is allergic to unhappy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28504098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractelysium/pseuds/abstractelysium
Summary: An anthology of eleven short fics based on Tumblr prompts for six Haikyuu couples; a range of settings, ages, and situations, but no one gets away from how they feel. Press the reset button as much as you like, they still end up together.Some aged-up chapters are manga-timeskip-inspired. Individual chapters to include more specific ratings and content warnings where relevant (some of these get spicy or sad). Enjoy!1. soggy cereal / alarm / invitation (IwaOi, age 26)2. candle wax / dusty shelves / dried flowers (IwaOi, age 9)3. deep ocean / stars / fear (AsaNoya, age 19/18)4. woods at night / fairy ring / hollow (AsaNoya, age 17)5. sunset / honey / messy hair (KageHina, age 20)6. cold lemonade / crowded marketplace / windy (KageHina, age 15)7. abandoned / glass / lipstick (DaiSuga, age 25)8. roasted marshmallow / barefoot / dandelion (DaiSuga, age 16/17)9. headache / neon / blurry vision (TsukkiYama, age 27)10. lock / ticking clock / bored (TsukkiYama, age 17)11. mountains / dirty boots / oranges (BokuAka, age 30-something)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 63
Kudos: 155





	1. invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 1: soggy cereal / alarm / invitation
> 
> **IwaOi | age 26 | february**
> 
> Chapter Rating: T (language)

The sun is streaming in through the windows, and the rays prod insistently at Hajime’s heavy eyelids, as though to remind him of something. 

Hajime’s blinking eyes fall on his phone, next to his head on the pillow. _Shit._

He’s awake instantly, groggy and mad at himself. He unlocks the screen, and reads the time – 9:06 AM. _Shit shit shit._ He opens his messages.

“I fell asleep, I’m the worst” he types quickly, and sends it to Oikawa. His fingers rush through two more texts.  
“should have set an alarm to stay awake”  
“I’m so sorry, am I too late?”

To his surprise, Hajime sees the typing bubble appear a moment later.

“Iwa-chan! I’m at dinner”

“late dinner?” It’s 12 hours’ difference, in Argentina.

“we’re celebrating ;P”  
“give me an hour and a half, I want to see you”

“okay, I’ll be ready.” Hajime sends, and debates apologizing again, but he’ll just do it when they video chat.

Hajime ditches his sweatpants and takes a quick shower, tidying his room and organizing some laundry to take care of later. He checks his email and washes the dishes in his sink from the night before (the snacks he made to keep himself awake past midnight, which evidently didn’t work).

Hajime remembers that most normal people eat breakfast in the morning, and that he really should try it, so he digs out a box of cereal that he bought forever ago and finds some milk in the fridge. He’s got ten minutes left to eat it.

His phone buzzes, unexpectedly. “okay I’m free to vchat now :)”

Hajime smirks. _Of course he is._

He waits while the video request chirps its melody at him, the grey background offering only Oikawa’s name, and then his face fills the screen. “Iwa-chan!” 

Hajime’s chest tightens, and he smiles. “Oikawa. You look… warm?” The setter’s face is slightly flushed.

“We all had _vino_ , Iwa-chan,” Oikawa explains, touching his cheeks. “The coaches too. Not too much, there’s practice in the morning. _Mañana hay práctica._ My Spanish is getting better and better,” he brags, and Hajime can’t help the amused huff of a laugh that escapes his mouth. 

“ _Vino,_ ” Hajime repeats, trying the word. His expression twists suddenly, brow furrowing with guilt. “I’m sorry about last night, I must have been more tired than I –”

“No, no.” Oikawa shakes his head and smiles at him. “It’s okay, I’m glad I caught you before the end of _my_ day. So, tell me.” He’s eager.

“About my day yesterday?” Hajime snorts a laugh. “Not really anything to tell. I had my clients, and a dinner in Tokyo.” He bites a lip, wanting to confide in Oikawa about his hopes, but it’s far too early to admit to them. “I’m being... schmoozed and scouted, maybe.”

“Aikatsu-san, again?”

Hajime nods. “Yeah.”

“Iwa-chan! They want you for the Olympic team trainer!” Oikawa looks positively thrilled.

Hajime feels the color on his cheekbones. “Nothing yet, it was just a dinner.” 

“Still, this is so good for you!”

“Yeah,” Hajime confesses, and he smiles shyly. “But you – a dinner with the whole team?”

Oikawa waves a hand, milking it. “Just a team outing, a little celebration, because we’ve been playing so well.” He smirks, but his true enthusiasm takes over a second later. “They’re really great, Iwa-chan, you’d like them. They’re saying we’ll sweep the league.” He smiles, and Hajime sees the sincerity of it. “I’m really happy.”

“That’s _fantastic_ , Tooru,” says Hajime, and he realizes a second later. It slipped out.

Oikawa’s eyes widen with unexpected delight, and Hajime waits for him to tease, to mention it at least, but he doesn’t. “Yeah,” he says instead, “yeah, it is.”

There’s a lull, and Hajime can’t decide if he made things awkward, or not.

“I miss you,” says Tooru suddenly, quietly.

Hajime takes a breath.

“I was thinking about…” Oikawa breaks off and shakes his head, abruptly. “It’s not important. Tell me about dinner with Aikatsu-san.”

“No,” says Hajime tentatively. “It’s okay, uh.” It’s been months, and he feels like they’re finally ready to talk about the things they’ve been avoiding, but of course he couldn’t bring anything up himself. Hajime realizes he’s kind of desperate for everything that happened years ago not to get in their way anymore. “Tell me.”

“I… I just miss you,” Oikawa admits. “I think about things you’d say or do sometimes.”

“Me too,” says Hajime, voice low.

“I wonder about… what you’re up to. Probably sleeping, you _are_ on the other side of the world,” he concedes, blushing. “It’s silly.”

“It isn’t,” says Hajime, and realizes Oikawa needs – deserves – a little more than that. “I think about you, too.” He glances down at his uneaten cereal, slowing getting soggy in the bowl. “I’m...” and he’s not sure how to say this, exactly, but he presses on, “...I’m really glad we’re talking again. Friends. It was...” he searches for it, “...we were – stubborn, for too long.”

“We were,” nods Oikawa.

“I’m glad you texted me. Made us start doing this, again.”

“So am I.” Oikawa smiles at him. 

Hajime wonders if they’ll leave it there, this time. It’s a decent start – it feels like they finally opened that door, at least.

Oikawa’s face is lit only by the screen in his hand, the rest of the room dark around him. Hajime remembers that it’s late, there.

“I...” Oikawa looks like he’s working up to something. Hajime is glad the setter is braver than himself. “I had a thought.”

“Yeah?”

Oikawa sighs out. “Just, uh…” His face pinches for a moment. 

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“Well, you can say no. Just tell me I’m crazy. It’s fine.”

“Tell me what it _is_ , first,” says Hajime, and he lets his amusement creep in.

“It’s um. The league finals.” Oikawa looks like he’s holding his breath. “I could… if you came, maybe. For a visit.”

“Oh,” says Hajime. That’s a big step.

“It’s fine, forget it. It was just a thought I had, you’re too busy.”

“I didn’t say no,” says Hajime, although he keeps his face neutral, cautious. “When?”

“A little less than two months,” says Oikawa, biting a lip. “Mid-April.”

“Mid-April,” repeats Hajime. 

“I’d help,” Oikawa blurts, suddenly. “If you really could, I’d gladly pay.”

“That’s a lot, Oikawa,” says Hajime, and his brow furrows.

“It would be nothing,” says the setter, “it’s cheap here, I’m making so much.” His lips press together. “Really. I’m serious.”

Hajime takes another breath. Oikawa is tense, the silence thick between them.

“I’d… like to,” says Hajime.

“I want to see you again,” whispers Oikawa, “Hajime.” Tentative, but… deliberate.

“...Mid-April.” says Hajime, eventually. “I don’t know, I can’t say for sure right now – but. I’ll try.” Hajime’s heart is beating a little louder in his ears. He’s blushing, too, can see it in the tiny box that reflects his face. “I’ll try.” It’s a promise. 

Oikawa breathes out, releasing some stored-up tension. A shy smile begins on his lips. “You’d love it here, not just the games,” he says, gaining momentum, “and you could meet the team. I can introduce you to the coaches, if you like. The food is so different but so good, and the nightlife is amazing. I’d love to – to show you.” He blushes, slightly. 

“I’d like that,” he agrees. It sounds really great, to be honest, but Hajime is worried about… the door they’ve opened. What this means. “If I _can_ , uh” – he starts, and sees the setter nod, encouraging him – “what would… um. It’s just that. I don’t know if I…” Hajime sees Oikawa’s smile falter, and he gets too anxious about fucking up their hard-won progress to continue. “Never mind. Never mind.”

“Iwa-chan, I really want to make it happen,” says Oikawa, frowning. “Tell me. Talk to me.”

Hajime gives himself one more deep breath, sighing it all the way out. “There are things we haven’t talked about,” he says, evenly. “From – from forever ago. The things that happened, what we – what we said.” He lets that hang in the air a moment.

Oikawa’s turn to take a breath. “Yeah,” he agrees, quietly. “I know.”

“Well, and – I dunno, I _like_ … this. Us. The way we’ve been, again.” He pauses. “Do you?” He’s scared.

“I do,” says Oikawa. “I like that we’re not being so dumb and stubborn, anymore. I like that you were willing to stay up late to video chat with me, even if you ended up falling asleep.” He chuckles, but his eyes stay earnest. “I like that we’re even trying at all, Iwa-chan.”

“Well, that part is just a habit,” says Hajime, hoping he sounds appropriately light and playful, without too much behind it. “From too many years of putting up with you.” His lips twitch into a nervous smirk, which gets wider when he sees Oikawa echo it.

“Iwa-chan,” chides Oikawa, taunting him gently, “I got you to download a video chat app you’d never heard of, and you didn’t even complain.” He lifts an eyebrow, and Hajime is caught.

“I guess you did,” he says.

The silence that descends for the moment is comfortable, while they share it.

“And whether you end up coming to visit or not,” Oikawa says, quietly, but with energy, “I’ll still kind of… wonder. About us. If things had been – different.” Oikawa’s eyes hold his across their virtual connection, bold. 

If forced, Hajime would confess he’s had a lot of the same thoughts, a quiet but persistent _what if_ that has left him wound a little tighter these past few months, since they started talking again. It hasn’t been enough to really agitate him like it used to the first time, but… it’s definitely there again now. 

And Hajime kind of thinks it might be worth the risk.

“Then I’ll do as much as I can,” says Hajime, bravely. “To be there in April.”

“Hajime,” says Oikawa, his eyes going a little starry.

“Tooru,” he teases, but doesn’t back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think! <3


	2. attic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 2: candle wax / dusty shelves / dried flowers
> 
> **IwaOi | age 9 | september**
> 
> Chapter Rating: G

Hajime frowns at the dust in the air. He can see it floating in the rays of sunlight from a dingy window.

“It’s super gross up here, Oikawa,” he says.

“It’s just an attic, Iwa-chan,” chides Oikawa.

“Yeah, well… it’s dusty,” Hajime retorts. He doesn’t admit that it’s a little scary, being up here, all the creaky floorboards and shadows and stale air. It feels like maybe they’re doing something wrong, something that’s not allowed. 

“I wanna show you what I found,” says Oikawa, insistent, eager. He doesn’t care about should or shouldn’t, Hajime realizes, because it’s _his_ attic. Well, his parents’. But still. 

Oikawa wanders past shelves of yellowing books, boxes of broken toys, crates full of wires and hammers and assorted Dad-things. They’re almost to the opposite side of the attic, near the other window. Oikawa kneels down on a faded rug in front of a box labeled _Obaachan_.

“Your grandmother?” asks Hajime, kneeling too.

“My dad’s grandmother,” Oikawa explains. “She died before I was born.” He reaches in, pulling out a half-crushed, fragrant bouquet of dried flowers, a small wooden box that makes a _chh-chh_ noise as the contents shift inside it, and a series of bundled envelopes with carefully printed kanji in faded ink. “We have to put everything back _exactly_ as we found it,” he instructs, his fingers closing around something that crinkles softly in his grasp. “Here it is!”

Oikawa pulls out another faded envelope, this one not in a bundle. The same careful, precise kanji are printed on it in dark blue ink, but the flap includes a circular lump of burgundy wax that hangs off the edge. Oikawa holds it so Hajime can see in more detail, and Hajime reads the kanji for his best friend’s family name, _Oikawa_ , stamped into the opened wax seal.

“It’s a letter?” he asks.

Oikawa grins. “You’ll see.”

With careful, eager nine-year-old fingers, Oikawa lifts the flap of the envelope and pulls out a folded piece of paper, yellow with age, and just a little bit wrinkled. A letter. Oikawa looks at Hajime expectantly, as if to say _wait for this, this is great_. He unfolds the paper and scoots a little closer to Hajime on the floor, showing him the painstaking symbols in long, straight lines on the page. Oikawa clears his throat, theatrically.

“ _My dearest Hiroko-chan,_ ” Oikawa reads, grandly, “ _the days have been so long without you, much too long. I will surely die of boredom in this town, longing to take your hands in mine, to see your shining eyes again…_ ” – Oikawa breaks character, waving a hand and summarizing – “blah blah blah, he writes a lot, and I don’t know all the kanji, Iwa-chan, but this part is what I wanted to show you: _I will not again be happy until I have held you in my arms, and kissed your lips a thousand times, for every moment of every day that I miss you. Please write me back, and tell me you want me to kiss you a thousand times like I promised. Until then, I am ever yours, and all my heart, Shigeru._ ” Oikawa’s eyes find Hajime’s, wide and incredulous. “Oh my gosh, Iwa-chan!”

“What?” asks Hajime, confused. His heart is beating faster, he notices. This is almost certainly not allowed.

“A _thousand_ times!” emphasizes Oikawa, pointing at the neat script in the letter.

“It’s just boring love stuff,” Hajime says, dismissively. “Adults say that stuff all the time.”

“It has to be a lie, though,” says Oikawa, puzzled. “I mean – a thousand kisses is so _much_ , Iwa-chan.” He squints at the letter, daring it to give up its secrets. 

Hajime is inclined to agree, but simply agreeing with Oikawa isn’t something that he does _ever_ , if he can help it. “It’s a way to make someone fall in love with you, obviously,” he says wisely, completely making it up. “I mean, if you kiss someone a thousand times, they basically _have_ to love you after that.”

“Oh, I didn’t think of that,” says Oikawa, frowning. 

“Kisses aren’t even that nice,” says Hajime, crossing his arms and undermining his own argument. “I don’t even know why anyone would _want_ to kiss somebody a thousand times.”

When Hajime looks back at Oikawa, he’s smirking at him in that way that Hajime always finds irritating, like Oikawa knows something Hajime doesn’t. “ _I_ do,” says Oikawa.

Hajime frowns at him, and decides to wipe the smirk off of Oikawa’s face. He moves in close, closer than he and Oikawa’s faces have ever been, and watches as Oikawa’s eyes widen in surprise. With his dry lips he finds Oikawa’s mouth, pressing down for a second, and then quickly pulling away. 

“Iwa-chan!” exclaims Oikawa. “You kissed me!”

Hajime blushes. “Yeah? So?”

Oikawa looks at him, studying his face for a moment. “So I wasn’t ready,” he shrugs, fidgeting. Nervous. “So do it again.”

Hajime is surprised. “You want me to kiss you again?”

“Maybe.” Oikawa looks away. 

Hajime watches Oikawa’s face, as his eyes glance at Hajime, darting away. He’s definitely waiting for Hajime to lean in. Hajime’s turn to smirk. “No, I won’t do it.”

Oikawa’s mouth opens in shock. “Iwa-chan! Mean!” He grabs for Hajime’s face, before he can squirm away, and plants a smacking kiss on Hajime’s lips. 

“Oikawa!” Hajime’s hand flies to his mouth, scrubbing at his lips.

“Well, you wouldn’t!” Oikawa looks proud of himself.

“This time _I_ wasn’t ready,” mumbles Hajime. 

“Oh,” says Oikawa, and Hajime is surprised to hear the softness in his best friend’s voice. They both sit for a long moment, neither doing anything yet. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Hajime wonders aloud. “I think boys are _supposed_ to kiss girls.”

Oikawa frowns. “Who says?”

Hajime isn’t sure, actually. He shrugs.

“That’s stupid, Iwa-chan,” says Oikawa, shaking his head. “I think you’re _supposed_ to kiss anybody you want to. Boys or girls doesn’t matter.”

“Oh,” says Hajime, wishing he had something more to say, but also kind of wanting to do the kiss thing right, just one more time. He rubs his lips together, which makes them a little less dry. Oikawa’s eyes watch Hajime’s lips, and he wets his own with a quick swipe of his tongue. 

Neither of the boys say anything, just kind of watching each other, waiting. 

They both lean in at the same time, pressing somewhat-softer lips against each other. Hajime sees Oikawa’s eyes flutter closed, so he closes his eyes, too. It’s a longer kiss than the ones before, but still not very long at all. Both of them pull back and open their eyes, unsure what to say, just watching. 

Then Hajime turns his head and sneezes, the dust in the sunlight from the window whirling around in the air. 

Oikawa explodes into giggles, holding his stomach. “Iwa-chan! Gross!”

Hajime tries to frown at his best friend, but his mouth ruins it by trying to smile, pulled in by Oikawa’s laughter. “Shut up,” he says, not really grumpy enough. “I told you, it’s dusty!” He takes a giant sniffle. 

“Okay, okay,” Oikawa relents, still smiling. “Let’s go outside and play volleyball.” He carefully replaces the keepsakes from Obaachan’s box in the order they were removed, while Hajime watches.

As they walk back across the creaking floorboards to the attic entrance, Hajime decides that maybe it was nice, feeling Oikawa’s lips against his own. Kind of soft, in a way he didn’t expect, and Oikawa seemed like he maybe liked it, too. It’s probably important that both of them liked it, Hajime reasons. 

So yeah, maybe kissing is nice, after all.

Not that Hajime is ever going to admit it, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, leave me a comment, please!


	3. lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 3: deep ocean / stars / fear
> 
> **AsaNoya | age 19 & 18 | summer**
> 
> Chapter Rating: T/M

The day has left Yuu bone-weary from exertion, but he just cannot sleep. Even the steady rocking of the boat doesn’t help, and after a couple hours of tossing and turning, he gives up and climbs out onto the deck, to pace in the pale moonlight.

It’s his uncle’s deep-sea fishing boat, and this excursion that they’re on will last three more days and two nights before they dock back at the harbor. 

Yuu glances out at the dark tumbling waves, the smell of sea salt omnipresent in his nostrils. He lets the moving water hypnotize him for a long moment, before the feelings he’s been trying to ignore, to press down and hold at bay, come rushing back like the tide.

He remembers the sinking, hollow feeling in his gut, the distance he suddenly needed, laying warm and naked next to Asahi in his small bed, too close, too much. Asahi’s words ringing like alarm bells in his ears.

“I could do this everyday for the rest of my life,” is what he had said. 

And Yuu felt – feels it again now, remembering – trapped.

He’d let his sudden, desperate urge for escape talk him out of staying the night, despite so many nights before, awkward and rushed. The last train out of Tokyo, back to his parents’. His legs sticking to the seat, the humid nighttime air.

His uncle was visiting, and the planned excursion came up in conversation the next day. Yuu agreed immediately.

The voicemail message is still there, on Yuu’s phone. He’s been too afraid to listen to it. 

Shame burns in Yuu’s throat, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut in disgust. _I’m a coward,_ he thinks. And it’s not Asahi, not at all, not really.

Yuu graduated this past spring, with no plans. A couple of jobs that were boring and that he didn’t keep long. Volleyball was over, and he meandered through his days, listless. He thought he’d relish the freedom it afforded, but the boredom loomed daily like a thunderhead. Hating his coworkers, the customers. Hating the smell of himself after a long shift. Hating his constant restless discontent.

Asahi was a bright spot, but so far away, in Tokyo. His exciting university life, his tiny apartment, his clever friends. _Jealous,_ Yuu makes himself admit. _I was jealous of him._ It wasn’t fair at all, but still true. So he started spending his weekends there, and things were better, for a while. Movie nights and exploring Tokyo and walks through campus and lots of sex in Asahi’s narrow bed. 

It wasn’t long before it was the only nice thing in his life. Yuu should’ve been wiser, should’ve noticed himself growing too needy and dependent on his weekends with Asahi – the euphoria of seeing him again hitting his veins like a drug, the depression when it was time to leave, too soon, too fast. He lied to himself for a long time.

But then Asahi said it, said the words, brought up the monotonous, indelible grind of the unsettled future. _I could do this everyday for the rest of my life._ And Yuu panicked.

Yuu pulls his phone from a pocket now, and notices the stars. They’re really bright, the sky open and clear. The darkness is almost a wine-purple where the glistening pinpricks of constellations scatter, stuck into it. The rolling water below nudges the boat in a gentle cadence. Yuu unlocks his phone screen.

A pleasant woman’s voice reads out Asahi’s phone number in its entirety, adding the date and time the message was left, much too cheerful for the circumstances. Yuu can’t decide whether to worry more about the frantic beat of his heart or the way his fingers shake. The recording begins.

“ _Yuu, oh god…_ ” he trails off. “ _I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I don’t know exactly what I did, but I don’t want to hide anymore – you taught me that, you know? You and your fearlessness. I love you. I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you so much, for so long, but you’ve been so unhappy lately, and I just… I’m in love with you, and I feel like I fucked up. Please, Yuu, I really don’t want to ruin what we have, but I need you to know. I have a million regrets in my life, things I’m ashamed of, that I wish I could do over – but none of them are you. I love you, and even if we’re really over, I want you to know. Please tell me we’re not over. God, tell me anything, Yuu. I want you back. I miss you so much._ ” He pauses to take a deep breath. “ _I’m – please call me. Just tell me. I’m sorry. You’re the best thing in my life, I swear. Please._ ” Another short pause. “ _I’ll be waiting. I promise._ ” Another couple of seconds, and the beep announces the end of the message.

Yuu lets his hand fall to his side, still holding the phone, the woman’s voice probably requesting that he follow additional prompts that don’t matter. Yuu smells salt spray on the air, watching the moonlight on dark, dancing water. His vision blurs.

The tears roll down his cheeks, silent. Hot and salty, like the ocean. The breath that Yuu takes trembles into his lungs, and suddenly Yuu hates himself so much he can’t bear it. His knees buckle, the weight of his remorse and frustration forcing him down, collapsing to his knees, tucking his head to stare down at the boards of the deck. His sobs shake his shoulders, fat tears splashing onto his hand.

“I thought I heard someone out here – oh, _hey_ , kiddo, hey, it’s okay.” Yuu’s uncle’s voice turns concerned, walking over to kneel down with him on the floor of the deck. He puts a hand on Yuu’s shoulder, thumb moving back and forth, trying to soothe him.

“Ojisan,” says Yuu, between sobs.

“C’mere, kiddo,” he says, opening his arms, and Yuu lets himself be pulled gratefully into a hug. He cries into his uncle’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s alright. I’ve got you.”

When Yuu feels a little steadier, he pulls back. “I don’t deserve him, Ojisan. He _loves_ me, and I _panicked_.” Yuu sniffs wetly, wiping his nose with the back of his arm.

“Oh,” says Yuu’s uncle, and Yuu realizes he’s missing a lot of details – almost everything, actually, but now he knows about the biggest part. It doesn’t seem to throw his uncle off as badly as Yuu thought it would. “Okay.” He’s processing the information, and watching Yuu’s face. “So... this person loves you. Is that a bad thing?” 

Yuu considers. “No,” he sniffs. It’s actually wonderful. Yuu isn’t sure he let it sink all the way in, properly.

“Okay. Why don’t you deserve him? What makes you think that?”

Yuu shrugs, and takes a sobbing breath. “His life is so different from mine. He knows exactly what he wants.”

“And you don’t.”

Yuu shakes his head to confirm.

“And that means you don’t deserve him?”

Yuu shrugs again, helplessly. He palms away a fresh tear.

“If you thought that you _did_ deserve him, would that change things?” Yuu’s uncle waits, patient. 

“I guess,” says Yuu eventually. “Maybe.”

“And how do you feel about him?”

Yuu looks out over the water, at the moonlight. “He makes me really happy,” he says, his chest tight. “He’s probably the best thing I have.”

Yuu’s uncle smiles at him pityingly. “Doesn’t sound like much of a problem to me, kiddo.” 

_Maybe,_ Yuu thinks. Maybe it’s a lot simpler than he feels.

“I’m glad you told me, by the way,” his uncle says, clearing his throat. “I still love you, and I’m really glad I’ve gotten to spend time with you again. You’re awesome, you know.”

“Thanks, Ojisan,” says Yuu, and his smile is bright and genuine, even if it makes his tears threaten again. “Love you.”

“Love you too, kiddo.”

Yuu hugs his uncle one more time. They sit for a while in the moonlight, with only the sound of the water and the gentle swaying of the boat. Yuu slowly pulls himself back together. 

“If you want,” says Yuu’s uncle, slowly, “I can hook up the generator tomorrow. So you can make a phone call.”

Yuu looks at him in surprise. “But I thought we were only using that for emergencies, Ojisan.”

“Well?” his uncle asks. “Isn’t it?” He smiles at him gently.

“Oh,” says Yuu, and he smiles widely, appreciative. Nods. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He chuckles easily. “No problem, kiddo.” 

~

After the early morning haul, when the sun is high enough over the ocean, Yuu’s uncle hooks up the generator as promised, and Yuu has his phone out and ready. He hopes he’ll know what to say. His uncle gives him some privacy, moving below deck. 

It barely rings once, before the call is accepted.

“Yuu!”

“Asahi,” says Yuu, and it’s like he’s remembered how to breathe again. He launches on, with purpose. “Don’t you _dare_ say you fucked up, okay? You didn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. It was me, okay? I freaked out. I’m supposed to be so brave but I completely lost my shit and it was the _worst_ time to do it, so I’m really sorry. Oh, god, it’s so good to hear from you.” 

“You too,” says Asahi’s voice in the phone, breathing relieved and harsh into the receiver. “You too, I missed you horribly.”

“I won’t do that to you again, okay? I promise. I freaked out, but it wasn’t because of you. It was _me_ , Asahi – this stupid rut I’ve been in. I felt stuck, and you said you wanted to stay like this forever, so I just freaked out about the _forever_ part.” Yuu bites his lip, but he knows how fearless Asahi thinks he is, and it gives him the courage to push on. “I need to ask for some things, Asahi. I have to, because it’ll be better, but it’s hard.” He pauses. “I’m scared.”

“Okay,” says Asahi, and he sounds worried. “I told you you could tell me anything, so please. Tell me.”

“I don’t want to break up, Asahi.” That’s important, a good first step. 

“Okay,” says Asahi, hesitating on the cusp of apprehensive and reassured. “Neither do I.”

“But I need… I need time. A little time and space, to figure some things out. You’re my _favorite_ thing, Asahi, the _best_ part of my life. And that’s the problem – you’re the _only_ thing I like about my life right now.” Yuu really hopes he’s making sense. He feels scrambled and awful, but he has to keep going. “So if we just keep doing things the same as always, I won’t _fix_ it. I won’t force myself to figure out all the things I freaked out about. What I want to do with myself. Who I want to be.” He takes a breath. “Does that – is that okay? Am I making sense? Oh god.”

“I think so,” says Asahi, slowly. “You feel… lost?”

“Yeah,” says Yuu. The word _lost_ feels very right. “I have no idea what I’m trying to do with myself now that high school is over.”

“Oh,” says Asahi. “And you got overwhelmed, because of it. So you want time to – to figure that out? And you need to do it... without me.” He’s got it, now, but Yuu can hear the disappointment that creeps into his voice, the rising sadness. 

“Yeah.” He wishes there were a way to do this without hurting either of them, but Yuu knows it’s only going to get worse if he tries to ignore it. “For a little while. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” says Asahi, but he sighs, too. “It makes sense. I don’t… I don’t like it, but I understand. And if it’s that important for you...” he pauses, for a moment. “I’ll deal with it.”

Yuu exhales. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m not looking forward to it either. But it’s really important. And I want – I want this for both of us. So it’s fair to you.” The sunshine glints and dances on the water, and Yuu feels determined. “You’re the best thing in my life, Asahi,” he confesses, deliberately. “I need you to know that.”

“I love you,” says Asahi, but he sounds wistful. “You probably heard my voicemail, but...” He trails off.

“I did,” says Yuu. He hesitates, and hates it. “I… I think I do, too? But I won’t know for sure until I see you again.” He bites his lip once more. This part is terrifying. “Can you – can you wait until I do?” There’s a pause, and Yuu’s heart bashes in his chest.

“I think so,” says Asahi, and his voice gets firmer, more resolute. “Yeah. I waited a long time to tell you, and I can wait for you to be sure before you say it back.” He sighs into the receiver. “I _really_ want you to be sure, Yuu.”

The relief Yuu feels is staggering. “Me too. I want to be, too.” His leg bounces. “Are we okay? I miss you so much. Oh god, this is hard, but I feel so much better already, just talking about it. You’re really okay if we do this?”

Asahi’s smile breaks the tension, a few chuckles against the receiver. “You need this, I can hear how much.” He takes a breath. “Can I...” He’s tentative, brave. “Can I still text you, when I miss you? When I’m thinking about you?”

“Oh yeah,” says Yuu, and a smile creeps across his lips as he nods. “I’d like that. It’ll keep me motivated, for sure.” 

“Okay, good.” Asahi sounds relieved, and Yuu’s smile widens.

~

Everyday, after the boat returns to the harbor, Asahi texts Yuu “I miss you,” along with ideas for discovering his purpose.

“There’s a sculpting class in Sendai,” he offers, once.

“Competitive origami!” he sends, with a link. Yuu giggles.

“My friend’s bike messenger service is hiring,” another time, with some details included. Yuu really considers that one. 

“Karate for beginners!” is one that makes him smile, with another link.

“There’s always the Neighborhood Association, Yuu,” is a text that makes Yuu gasp. Why did he think he had to stop playing after high school? 

It feels like a breakthrough. 

~

The first actual letter comes in the mail a week after Yuu starts playing with the Neighborhood Association. 

Asahi writes about his frustration with an economics class, some gossip about a professor’s divorce. The story of the first time he got lost trying to find his way back to his apartment from campus. 

The phrase _I love you_ is included four times, and _I miss you_ another ten.

Yuu reads and re-reads the letter so often, carrying it with him everywhere, that he starts to worry it will get accidentally ruined.

When the second letter arrives, Yuu races through the prose so fast. Three more instances of _I love you_ , and a passage that sticks in Yuu’s soul: 

“I think about you so much, wondering what you’re doing, how you are. I really want to see you happy, to know that you found the secret of it for yourself, Yuu. Your smile is always so bright and full of hope, and I can’t bear to think of you frustrated and bored. I have my selfish reasons for missing you, but I truly think getting you back when you feel more like _you_ – more whole, more happy, more comfortable with the direction your life is taking – I’m so excited to meet you, then. To take your hand, and learn who you are.”

There’s no way he’s not writing Asahi back, not when he’s more certain than ever of how he feels. Yuu thinks he might be breaking his own rules a little, but he hurries to find paper, and a pen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In my headcanon for this, Noya eventually becomes the coach for a high school girls' team.) :D


	4. dreamland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 4: woods at night / fairy ring / hollow
> 
> **AsaNoya | age 17 | late fall**
> 
> Chapter Rating: T

“Or we could all play a game, instead? Maybe a puzzle?” 

“You’re such a wimp, Asahi,” laughs Suga. “It’s just a movie, and it’s not real.” He punches Asahi lightly on the arm. 

“Ow,” mutters the ace, dejected.

Tanaka is leading almost all the second-years and as many first-years as he can (mostly just Hinata, but Kageyama is murmuring _something_ ) in a rousing chant of “Blood and guts! Blood and guts!” while Ennoshita fiddles with the DVD player. 

“C’mon, Asahi, it’s our last team sleepover before the new year, before nationals. Don’t you want all these fond memories we’re making?” Daichi teases. 

Asahi feels torn. “Yes,” he says, hesitantly. His voice gets low, almost inaudible. “But I also want to be able to sleep...” He fidgets, and picks at his fingernails. 

Forty minutes into the movie, there’s a suspenseful scene in which the murderer is stalking the main characters through the woods at night, the music creeping and swelling, tense and discordant. The camera hovers over a young woman’s face, twisted in fear. She turns to call for her friends, but right over her shoulder, the murderer raises a wicked-looking knife in the moonlight, dripping with blood. The music peaks as the blade swings down.

Asahi screams. Luckily, so does almost everyone else, but as Asahi’s heart threatens to explode out of his chest, he watches his teammates’ terrified expressions melt into laughter, easy enjoyment of their own fright. Asahi frowns, and shame sneaks in, the sickening bitterness of it curling in his stomach.

_How can they all just laugh this off?_ The question echoes in his brain, unsatisfied. Asahi flinches his gaze away from the screen in revulsion – the young woman is being stabbed repeatedly, the blood in her throat turning her screams to wet gurgles – and he sees his teammates cheering and goading each other happily, evidently delighted. Another question, more sinister and more familiar, rises in Asahi’s mind: _What’s wrong with me?_

Uncomfortable in his own skin, and unwilling to wrestle with it in the presence of his friends, Asahi stands, and sidles past the other two third-years, mumbling an excuse about needing the bathroom. 

He ends up sitting on the stairs, hanging his head, the sounds of the movie and his teammates’ enjoyment somewhat muted by distance. He frowns and holds his head in his hands for a long minute, just wishing to be someone – anyone – else, someone who likes these things, who doesn’t get so scared by everything all the time.

Quiet footsteps pad close, and Asahi looks up to see Noya approaching him cautiously. “Asahi-san?”

“N-Noya,” he starts, keeping his voice low. “I’m… um...” He doesn’t really have an excuse, and feels the shame turning his cheekbones red.

To Asahi’s surprise, Noya’s face shows genuine concern, with maybe a little pity. “You’ve been Karasuno’s awesome and brave ace in so many new ways lately – I guess your courage finally ran out, huh?” He gives a cheeky smile.

“No, it’s just… I, um –” he fumbles.

“Asahi-san. It’s okay.” Noya reaches out for his hand, and Asahi consents. Slides his palm against the libero’s, squeezing his hand. Asahi lets Noya’s smile grow on his own face. “Come on, I want to show you something.” Noya tugs the ace to his feet.

To Asahi’s surprise, Noya pulls his shoes on, urging Asahi to do the same, and then leads them quietly out the front door, closing it behind them with care. Asahi’s club jacket is still inside, and the chilly night air of late fall causes goosebumps to stand up on Asahi’s bare arms. “Noya, why are we outside? I don’t want to leave yet...”

“We’re not leaving, don’t worry. Well, not for long. I’ve been to Chikara’s house a million times. There’s something I want to show you nearby.”

Asahi feels his heartbeat pick up, and for the moment, he knows it is equal parts anxiety and excitement.

Noya leads him just two houses down the road, to a small park that stands in front of a little thicket of trees, the entrance to a forest beyond. The moon is not quite full in the sky, only a few high, wispy clouds and the thinnest sliver of darkness along one edge to obscure it. The whole park is bathed in pale light, and Noya drops Asahi’s hand to skip playfully over to the set of swings and hop onto one. His legs pump for a few steady swings before he gains momentum, grinning at the ace and swinging to a height taller than Asahi’s head, while the structure creaks rhythmically in response.

“Noya, you look like you’re having fun, but… what are we doing out here?”

“Don’t worry, Asahi-san!” calls Nishinoya, happily. “Don’t be scared of the woods back there. There’s no murderers, I promise. Only spiders, and bears, and snakes, and ghosts, and werewolves...” 

“Noya!”

The libero laughs, heartily. “Relax, Asahi-san. I’m teasing.” He abruptly jumps off the swings and lands heavily, taking a couple running steps to steady himself. He approaches Asahi again, pulling him by the hand to a bench only a few feet from the tree line. 

When they sit, Noya pulls the collar of his t-shirt down and grabs for Asahi’s hand. He pulls his fingers to a thin scar just under the hollow of Noya’s throat, and Asahi can feel it beneath his fingertips. When his hand pulls back, Asahi can see the raised white bump under the moonlight. 

He frowns. “A scar?”

“D’you know how I got it?”

Asahi shakes his head.

“There was a neighbor who had a dog, when I was little. I was pretty scared of her, but a lot of my friends said she was very sweet. Whenever I tried to reach out and pet her, the dog would shrink back and growl at me. Finally, one day I decided to be brave. I wasn’t going to let my fear stop me anymore!” He grins, remembering, and demonstrates a determined face, complete with a closed fist.

Asahi smiles. “So,” he says, imagining the ending. “You were finally able to pet the dog.”

Noya’s grin widens. “Nope! She bit me.”

“What?!”

“Yeah! I kind of tripped and tackled the poor thing, and she yelped and bit me. That’s why I have the scar.” He laughs, and his fingers run over it. “I never did get along with that dog.” He shakes his head at himself, with another laugh.

“Oh.” Asahi is confused. “Noya… why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” says the libero, his bright eyes turning fond and mischievous. “I think it’s not a bad thing to be scared sometimes. Even bravery doesn’t always stop you from getting hurt.” He takes Asahi’s hand, again, and this time, it’s more timid, interlacing their fingers hesitantly and glancing back up at the third-year’s face. “You know?”

“Yeah,” says Asahi, quietly. They sit in silence together for a moment, listening to the wind disturbing the leaves of the trees, a hooting call from a nocturnal bird, the distant barking of a dog inside someone’s house. Asahi realizes he hasn’t stopped holding Noya’s hand, and that he doesn’t want to stop, either. He moves his thumb slowly against the second-year’s skin, a tiny caress. He doesn’t look at the other boy’s face. “Thank you, Noya,” he murmurs, softly.

“Mmm,” Noya hums, and squeezes Asahi’s hand. “For what?”

Asahi sighs, and remembers the alienation of his discontent, the way his own anxieties so often steal his enjoyment from so many moments. “For bringing me here,” he says, and he looks around at the park, at the swing Noya jumped out of, still swaying a little in the breeze. “For… for coming to get me, when I was feeling...” He wants the words to matter, so he commits to the truth. “When I felt like my fear made me useless.” He looks at Noya, letting him see into his eyes. “I hate how scared I get about a lot of things, but it’s nice to know that someone notices when I’m trying to be brave, too.”

Noya blushes, bright red, but he holds Asahi’s gaze, and his thumb moves to caress Asahi’s in return. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I… like you, Asahi-san. We make a great team, I mean.” He looks away abruptly, pulling his hand out of Asahi’s grasp and standing. “I guess we should go back, yeah?”

Asahi is looking behind the libero, over his shoulder, where the forest stretches beyond the park, continuing behind the nearby houses. “Wait, um…” Asahi thinks he sees something, illuminated by the moon. “Come with me.”

They walk toward the trees, and Noya is impressed and teasing. “Taking a walk in the woods at night, huh, Asahi-san? See, I knew you were brave.” Asahi halts at the edge of the trees, squinting in the shadows they cast. “What is it?”

“I think it’s a fairy ring,” says the ace, still trying to see. “Or at least, that’s what some people call them. I’ve never seen one before. They’re supposed to be a portal to another world, to dreamland, in children’s stories.”

Noya squints and stretches to see it, too. “That circle of mushrooms?”

“Yeah! Can you see it?”

Noya giggles. “Come on!” He grabs Asahi’s hand once more, pulling him through the section of forest, stepping over taller grasses and rougher weeds that try to catch on their clothes. 

Asahi attempts a weak verbal protest, but he’s already almost through. “Wait, I dunno if we should...”

“I want to see,” grins the libero, and then they’re there, in a small clearing, and there is indeed a small, imperfect circle of mushrooms growing in a ring. The moon is bright over their heads, and the only sound for a long moment is the wind.

“Wow,” says Asahi, and he smiles, and looks back at Noya. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah,” says the libero, looking at him with a grin. “Step inside it, Asahi-san.”

“What?”

“Do it! I wanna see.” He nudges the ace closer. “I wanna see if you disappear into dreamland.”

Asahi doesn’t believe in children’s stories anymore, but he does feel a little like he’s tempting fate. He takes cautious steps toward the ring of mushrooms, and then, with a larger step so he doesn’t disturb them, his feet land in the center of the oblong circle. 

He turns carefully in place, and looks up from his shoes, close together underneath him, at Noya’s wonder-filled face. For several seconds, nothing happens.

“I think it’s just a kids’ story, Noya,” says Asahi, with a smile. 

“Wait,” says the libero, stepping forward. “Stay there for a second. Close your eyes.” When Noya sees the suspicious look Asahi gives him, he smiles cheekily at him. “Close your eyes! You trust me, right?”

Asahi waits only a moment. “I do,” says the ace, and he lets his eyes fall closed.

The nighttime noises of his surroundings fill Asahi’s ears, as the wind picks up, playfully slipping past his clothing. Asahi shivers in the cold air, and the incessant stutters of insects meld with the same hooting bird call he heard before. Asahi’s nose picks up on the earthy smell of the trees, with their dropped leaves dying in clusters on the forest floor.

Suddenly, Asahi feels hot breath ghosting over his lips, an unmistakable nervous inhale. He barely has time to gasp, letting his lips part just a little, before he feels the warm, gentle pressure of Noya’s mouth leaning up against his own. His limbs freeze while his heart stumbles and stutters out an erratic rhythm in his chest, and Noya’s lips move lightly against his own, for just another second. Then he feels him withdraw, and Asahi opens his eyes.

Noya looks hopeful and nervous, head slightly bent, as he takes another step back. “Are you in another world yet, Asahi-san?” he asks, quietly.

“Yeah,” breathes Asahi, and his heart has yet to slow down. “I guess it worked.”

The boys say nothing to each other, walking silently back out through the park, winding their way to Ennoshita’s house, too nervous to even hold hands. 

They reach the door, and Noya’s fingers close over the handle, and then stop. “Oh.”

“What?” asks the ace. “What is it?”

“We’re locked out,” says Noya, and gives Asahi a guilty smile. “I’ll have to knock.” He raises his fist, but Asahi grabs for it suddenly.

“Wait!” the ace whispers, apprehensively. “The team will think – um, they’ll think we were… doing something.” He blushes, and Noya can see it clearly, in the moonlight.

“Oh,” says Noya, lowering his fist, and taking Asahi’s hand in his own. His smile turns wicked. “Well then.” He backs Asahi slowly up against the door. 

“Wh-What are you doing, Noya?”

“If they’re going to think so anyway,” the libero says, and the moonlight glints suggestively off of his teeth, “we might as well.”

“Oh...” Asahi has time to watch the second-year lick his lips, before his hand reaches up for the back of Asahi’s neck and pulls him down into another kiss. This one is much less timid, but Asahi likes it just as much, and he does his best to let Noya know, leaning into it with growing enthusiasm.

It _is_ a lot like being in dreamland, Asahi decides, as his eyes flutter closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 5: sunset / honey / messy hair
> 
> **KageHina | age 20 | june**
> 
> Chapter Rating: E (smut)

_How did this happen?_ Tobio wonders. 

A hopeless mess is spread out in front of him on the kitchen counter, and the recipe he found on the internet swore to its readers that this was supposed to be _so easy_. ‘Only four ingredients, a perfect light summer dessert!’

Complete bullshit.

Hinata – _Shouyou,_ Tobio corrects his brain – and he started dating eleven days ago, finally. The timing is terrible, for so many reasons. First, because they both apparently had feelings for each other _years_ ago that neither of them did anything about. They just carried on playing volleyball together and bickering and trying not to watch each other changing in the club room and racing each other all the time and going to each other’s houses and sleeping on futons next to each other at training camps and getting confessions from girls in their class and eventually graduating and going to the same university to _keep_ playing volleyball together and deciding to be roommates and taking classes together and watching movies next to each other on the weekends and getting scouted by major professional teams, all without ever telling each other how _badly_ they wanted to just break down and _make out, already_. 

(But eleven days ago, it finally happened. It wasn’t even that momentous – they were huddled on their couch, watching the credits for a terrible slasher movie, and they got into a little argument about which of them would be killed first by a chainsaw-wielding maniac. Which quickly devolved into a shouting match, that went something like – 

“You’re the worst person, Kageyama!”

“You’re so annoying!”

“You’re _incorrigible!_ ”

“That’s not a real word, dumbass!”

“Yes, it is! _God_ , you’re so dumb!”

“Yeah, well, you’re _perfect!_ ”

– and they both froze, waiting for Tobio to explain his choice of words, stuttering helplessly, trying to take them back, but eventually admitting he actually _meant_ it, which is when Hinata’s eyes got so big and bright and his smile got so infectious and hopeful that Tobio just _gave up_. They kissed until they were both breathless and unsure what had happened, and then they both went to bed, separately, like always. When they woke up, Hinata grabbed and kissed Tobio and told him “So, we’re dating,” like it was already decided, and Tobio was very happy to finally have that settled.)

Another reason the timing is terrible is Shouyou’s birthday. It’s this coming weekend, not even two weeks into both of them finally starting to date. What do you get the person you’ve had feelings for for _waaay_ too long but only just started dating for real, who also happens to be your roommate and teammate and partner and best friend and so much else? 

Tobio started freaking out about it almost a week ago already. A casual gift, but one that Shouyou will love, and shows that he cares, but not too much? (By the way, something that Shouyou _needs_ for volleyball won’t cut it – too predictable, is what Yachi said when Tobio had texted her in a frenzy about knee pads.)

Which brings him to this afternoon’s kitchen mess. Yesterday, Tobio woke from a nap with the sudden memory of Shouyou in their third year at Karasuno telling him during lunch one day that honey is his favorite flavor for desserts.

_Make him something!_ his brain screamed in euphoria. _Something with honey!_

And then the anxiety descended, because Tobio has never baked anything in his life, and to start with something that is supposed to be a _gift_ – Tobio had immediately scoured the internet, needing whatever it was to be simple enough that he was unlikely to fuck it up, but that Shouyou would still appreciate and would maybe even be edible at the end of all this. 

Tobio found it… and now, he’s fucking it up.

Luckily, he should have some time to work through this. He’s got no classes this afternoon, and practice already happened this morning. Shouyou veered off after they both left practice, wearing a determined face, and telling Tobio that he would be wrestling with a History paper he was writing “like, all of today, probably!” at the library, vowing not to come back to their apartment until it was finished.

So Tobio raced to the store, bought all the necessary ingredients, including a big pot of honey, and raced back home, to dive into this baking endeavor. 

The recipe he found is for a sticky sponge cake called _kasutera_ – apparently it has Portuguese origins, a detail the recipe author unhelpfully included. The four ingredients are eggs, bread flour, sugar, and honey (although the recipe also mentions that he needs water, which should really mean there’s _five_ ingredients, but Tobio has enough else to grumble about). They’ve been a little vague about the right type of pan he needs, and the oven times and temperatures seem to depend entirely on one’s proximity to a mountain – except that this is _Japan_ , there is _always a mountain_. The comments on the recipe all say different things about what worked for them, and Tobio got more than a little overwhelmed at the possibility that simply following the recipe wouldn’t just automatically produce the result he was hoping for. 

Then he gave up, and just got started, deciding stubbornly to simply try his best. 

(There’s still time to bail on the whole thing if necessary, but Tobio really hopes it won’t come to that. It’s _supposed to be easy_. He feels rather like a challenge has been issued, and he’s determined to face it.)

The recipe mentioned beating the eggs into a ‘dense froth’ which is not something Tobio was even aware eggs were _capable_ of, but he found a bowl and what he hopes is the correct utensil and got to it (right after he picked out, with his clumsy fingers, all the shell pieces he accidentally dropped in there, too).

It took so much longer than he thought it would, but finally, _finally_ , the eggs seem to be finding their way into something only the most optimistic of onlookers might call a ‘dense froth’. Relieved, and tired, his arm already feeling weird in a way he didn’t anticipate, Tobio measures out and adds the sugar. The recipe says to mix them together with more beating, so Tobio figures by the time the sugar is fully mixed in there, the eggs are bound to be beaten enough to satisfy the recipe’s needs. With a sigh, he gets back to it.

Around the time Tobio wonders if he’s maybe finally done enough beating of everything in the bowl, Tobio notices that egg has splattered across his shirt. It’s probably going to stain, and Tobio feels a little warm anyway from the unexpected effort of egg beating and the summer air in their small apartment, so he opens a window and takes off his shirt, throwing it into the bathroom, to clean later, when he cleans _everything_. There’s a high likelihood that Tobio will make even more of a mess before this is finished, but his skin is easier to wash egg off of than fabric, so being shirtless seems like the right choice.

Tobio measures out the honey, and he doesn’t notice until it’s too late that the stickiness of it is all over the counter, the utensils, the pot it came in, and his fingers. He licks the honey off and wipes them absently on himself, and glances over the recipe once more, muttering under his breath, and hoping for the millionth time that this will all prove to be worth it.

When he pulls out the flour to start on that part of the recipe, a cloud of it dusts his jeans almost immediately, so Tobio just sighs and removes his pants, as well, throwing them in the bathroom with the shirt. It might be unorthodox to bake only in one’s underwear, but Tobio finally feels like he’s on a roll, and he should be alone long enough to get dressed again later.

He’s really getting pissed off about the inherent properties of flour and its ability to get everywhere except where he wants it – even more so in combination with spilled _honey_ – when the door to the apartment suddenly unlocks from the outside.

“Tobio!” calls Shouyou happily, from the entryway.

“Hin– Sh-Shouyou!” Tobio splutters wildly. “You’re – you’re _home!_ ” he exclaims, trying not to sound as panicked as he feels. 

Tobio glances around at himself, at the kitchen. 

He’s dead. He’ll just die, and that will do it. He waits for his heart to simply stop. Any second.

Shouyou appears from the hall. “I’m ba– oh.” His brown eyes take in, well, everything. “What are you… doing?”

“Nothing!” Tobio nearly squeaks, hoping desperately that Shouyou will just ignore the scene he has stumbled upon, knowing full well that there’s no chance of that. “I thought you were going to be gone longer?!”

“I gave up on the paper,” says Shouyou, with cautious words, but merriment dancing in his eyes. “I’ll have to email the professor. It doesn’t look like _nothing_ , Tobio. It looks like cooking.” He sees the spilled flour on the floor. “Baking? Are you _baking??_ ” 

Tobio sighs deeply, and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, frustrated to be forced into revealing his plan before he was ready. “It’s supposed to be for your birthday,” he mumbles, utterly defeated. “I tried to – there’s a recipe… it was going to be a surprise.”

“Oh!” says Shouyou, smiling delightedly. “Why are you _naked,_ though, Tobio?”

“Dumbass! I’m not naked,” Tobio barks, with the last shred of his dignity. “It – they got – my clothes are in the bathroom. I made a mess, so this was… easier.” He’s certain that the many shades of red his face has cycled through by this point are no longer identifiable on any earthly color spectrum. 

Shouyou breaks down and laughs, eyes going crinkly at the corners, his grin wide and full of teeth. “I’m sorry,” he chuckles gently, moving into the kitchen fully, toward Tobio. “It’s just – you look...” Shouyou closes most of the distance between them, taking Tobio in with a sweep of his delighted brown eyes. He giggles, again.

“I look what?” asks Tobio, trying to be grumpy, but he can’t help sharing Shouyou’s grin, as it grows on his own face. The situation _is_ fairly ridiculous, now he’s here, in the middle of it. 

“Mmm...” Shouyou hums, still smiling at him. “ _Good._ You look really good, Tobio.” He takes the final steps to close in on his boyfriend. “A handsome mess.” Shouyou pushes his fingers through a wild tangle of Tobio’s hair, and reaches a hand behind his head, to pull him down into a kiss. Tobio kisses him back, relieved to give in to it, weirdly pleased by Shouyou’s words.

The redhead’s eyes dance when he breaks away. “Is that… honey?” he asks, excited. Tobio realizes he licked his honey-sticky fingers earlier, unthinkingly. His boyfriend could probably taste it in their kiss.

Instead of replying, Tobio reaches for his phone, wiping off some spilled flour and unlocking it to show him the recipe. 

Shouyou’s eyes race over the text eagerly. “Tobio!” he exclaims, scrolling with a thin finger. “You wanted to make this for me?” He looks up at the setter fondly. 

“Yeah,” says Tobio gruffly, blushing and sighing. “But I only succeeded in making a mess.” His gaze sweeps over the clutter and splatter on the countertop. He frowns. “It’s supposed to be _easy_ ,” he grumbles under his breath.

“Oh,” says Shouyou, with another quick laugh, “it’s – there’s honey...” His eyes are on Tobio’s neck.

“What?” says Tobio, his fingers reaching for it.

Shouyou abruptly stops his hand before it gets there. “Uhh,” he says, shyly, “I’ll… let me do it.” He leans up, slowly, and grabs for Tobio’s neck, to bring the honey-sticky spot into contact with his mouth. 

Shouyou’s tongue drags against Tobio’s throat, hot and wet, and Tobio gasps, a spark of something thrilling down his spine. Shouyou’s lips close over the same spot, pulling the honey taste into his mouth, and making Tobio feel trembly and agitated, like something is beginning in parts of his body he and Shouyou haven’t… um, haven’t talked about yet. 

The redhead pulls back, with a guilty smile, and starts to apologize. “U-um, sorry, I...”

Tobio cuts him off by grabbing Shouyou’s face in his hands and kissing him deeply. His lips move against Shouyou’s with an eagerness, and his tongue prods, requesting entry. With a sigh, Shouyou’s lips part, and then Tobio’s tongue slides against Shouyou’s – a new sensation that Tobio has only had a few opportunities to explore thus far, and one he was surprised to learn he rather likes, even if it’s actually super weird in theory. Shouyou’s hands grip the skin at his waist, kneading just slightly, encouraging Tobio to keep going.

He eventually slows and pulls away, a little breathless, and is pleased to note that Shouyou is also somewhat flushed, his eyes wider than usual. “Woah,” the redhead says, one corner of his mouth curling into a smile.

Tobio attempts an explanation, just in case Shouyou needs to understand his reasoning, but he only gets as far as “It’s… you’re so...” before he trails off, losing the thread of it.

“Yeah,” breathes Shouyou, nodding enthusiastically. “You too.”

They crush back together, lips colliding with a renewed sense of purpose. Shouyou backs Tobio up against the messy countertop with a _thump_ , and his smaller body presses in against him, hands sliding over the exposed skin of Tobio’s chest, his stomach. The redhead’s hips push up along Tobio’s thigh, and Tobio can’t hold back the groan that escapes his mouth, lips hot and urgent against Shouyou’s.

Shouyou steps back, breaking the kiss suddenly, to stare at Tobio, panting. The setter is equally flustered, his dark blue eyes blown wide, color staining his cheekbones.

There’s a gravity to this moment, Tobio realizes, that even as the two of them hold still and apart, not touching at all for the time being, they are both being drawn in irresistibly, the only thing truly in question the specifics of _how_.

Then Shouyou’s gaze flicks to the mess on the counter, and he reaches past Tobio delicately. His fingertips dip into the bowl of honey that Tobio prepared, and his eyes return to his boyfriend’s, silently seeking permission. Tobio grants it a second later, an almost imperceptible nod. Shouyou’s honey-smeared fingertips coat Tobio’s erect nipple in sticky sweetness, and Shouyou’s hot mouth descends around it to suck the flavor away. 

Tobio was on his way there, but now he is suddenly, painfully hard – a series of overwhelmed gasps escaping from his throat, while his helpless hands grab at Shouyou’s shoulders, his hair. “Sh-Shouyou,” he whispers, desperately.

A few seconds later, Tobio’s hands get organized enough to grab the hem of the redhead’s shirt, hurrying to lift and pull the garment away. He discards it somewhere, immediately dropping his mouth onto Shouyou’s neck, enthusiastically licking and sucking the sensitive skin, rewarded with Shouyou’s low groan. His teeth graze Shouyou’s earlobe, while his hands caress as much of Shouyou’s back as he can, grabbing impatiently.

After teasing the side of Shouyou’s throat with his mouth long enough to maybe leave a mark – and in response to which Shouyou supplies a long, breathy moan – Tobio reclaims his lips, fiercely, pushing his greedy tongue into a battle against Shouyou’s. At the same time, Tobio reaches around to palm his boyfriend’s ass in both hands, and forcefully drags his hips in against Tobio’s own, the delicious friction causing both of them to groan into the other’s mouth.

Shouyou is hard – Tobio can feel the bulge in his shorts – and it’s driving him wild to know they’re so close, so eager to do this thing they’ve never done. He really hopes Shouyou is enjoying this as much as he is, but the urgency of the noises that spill from his boyfriend’s lips makes him feel like he probably shouldn’t worry too much.

“T-Tobio,” Shouyou stammers breathlessly, when the setter grinds them together again, and again, dizzyingly. “I – mmm – please,” he pants.

So Tobio’s hand closes over the bulging hardness of his boyfriend, still trapped by the layers of fabric, just to confirm, and Shouyou gasps a loud “ _Yes,_ ” that Tobio is utterly bewitched by. 

Tobio takes a second to assess, to decide the specifics of what he wants to do next. He knows that touching Shouyou will feel good for both of them, especially if he can make him come. And he wants to do that, very much – has had _countless_ fantasies about it over the years – but this is their first time _ever_ , and it’s almost Shouyou’s birthday, so Tobio wants to do something more than just rubbing him into a frenzy. 

_The honey,_ his brain suddenly provides, and with a triumphant exhale and half a grin, Tobio has a plan in place. He reaches, slides Shouyou’s shorts and underwear down and off of him, helps the redhead step out. He shoots back up and kisses Shouyou’s swollen lips heatedly, reaching for the countertop with one hand. His fingers dip messily into the honey bowl, half its contents now displaced out over the lip and onto the counter surrounding. He breaks the kiss, and brings his sodden fingers up, dragging them over Shouyou’s mouth, and sees Shouyou’s eyes widen when his tongue licks out to taste.

Tobio licks the honey off of Shouyou’s face and mouth in slow, deliberate strokes, delighted when Shouyou’s breath turns frustrated against his face, his tongue flicking out desperately to lick him back, struggling to pull him into a proper kiss. Tobio is still very aware of the hot insistence of Shouyou’s dick bumping a stuttered rhythm against his thigh. When he believes that Shouyou is amply distracted by the sweetness at his mouth, the fingers that are still slick with honey wrap around Shouyou’s straining length and pump over him.

The redhead jerks, his head thrown back almost violently, choking out a hysterical moan, in shudders. His small hands grab at Tobio’s shoulders, gripping him with bruising tension, urging him to keep going. Tobio gets a little lost in the moment – Shouyou’s gasping cries, punctuating a series of needy moans; the way his smaller body seems to be coiled under Tobio’s touch; and the too-real feeling of Shouyou hard in his hand, finally, his fantasies made concrete. 

(It’s a very nice dick; Tobio likes the size and the warmth of it, doesn’t mind the rough hair surrounding, and he’s very excited about the next step, which is putting it into his mouth.)

He positions them a little better in the small kitchen, giving Shouyou something to lean against, and then drops to his knees, and Shouyou whines loudly, understanding. “ _Ohhh_ my god...” The redhead bites his lip and closes his eyes tight, as though preventing himself from going over the edge too soon. 

(Tobio feels much the same – so turned on, he could practically lose it at any moment. The only thing keeping him from doing so is the focus on Shouyou’s pleasure, even if watching his boyfriend’s reactions admittedly also makes the setter burn with need.)

Tobio grasps the length of Shouyou and his tongue ventures out, lapping up the honey he coated it with earlier, licking and sucking the entire shaft, marveling at the new experience. The sweetness melding with the taste of Shouyou on his tongue, when the redhead’s precum dribbles down. He stays away from the head just now, guessing that it’s too much for the moment. One of Shouyou’s hands comes to rest uneasily on Tobio’s head, in his hair, the other on his shoulder. 

He waits until Shouyou’s moans lose some of their intensity, the signal that Shouyou can maybe finally handle it. And then he closes his mouth over Shouyou’s sensitive head, the taste of precum overwhelming his tongue as he laps at the slit.

“ _Tobio,_ ” gasps Shouyou, panicked, “I’ll – I’m gonna...”

So Tobio sucks him hard, pulling Shouyou in deeper with his tongue and gripping the base of him tight in one hand, and Shouyou explodes, crying out loudly. Tobio feels ecstatic and victorious, his boyfriend’s orgasm filling up his cheeks, so he swallows without thinking, Shouyou’s swollen dick still in his mouth, the bitterness coating his tastebuds. And Shouyou keens, long and frenzied, overcome by the sensation, the spurts of his extended orgasm twitching out into the warm embrace of Tobio’s mouth.

And that’s the sound that nearly pushes Tobio over the edge at last, so he hastily slides off of Shouyou with a rough _pop_ and drags his own weeping dick out of his underwear, leaning his sweaty forehead against Shouyou’s thigh and stroking himself fast and clumsy for a few desperate seconds before he groans out an orgasm of his own, sticky cum spilling over his fingers and onto the tile of the kitchen floor.

Shouyou barely gives him enough time to come down from this dizzying tower of sensations, before he pants a satisfied, breathy, “Move,” and buckles his knees, sliding down to join Tobio in a heap on the cool tile floor. 

They stare at each other, still breathless and speechless for the time being, and a moment later both of them break into identical exhausted smiles. Shouyou reaches out and drags Tobio’s face close to his, entangling their lips clumsily and soft.

“Wow,” he breathes, leaning his forehead against the setter’s, “that was a really great birthday present.”

Tobio huffs a laugh. “Dumbass,” he says fondly, “that wasn’t it.” His heart is slowing, but still beating fast in his ears. “That was… um, pretty amazing, though.”

“Oh, god, yeah.” Shouyou nods, his forehead rocking gently against Tobio’s, and chuckles. “We should definitely do it again soon.”

Tobio nods, leaning back against a cupboard, then he groans suddenly in irritation, remembering the abandoned sponge cake. “I made such a mess,” he mumbles, “and I fucked up a simple recipe. _Ugh_.” He closes his eyes, chagrined and annoyed about the wasted effort. When his eyes open, he drops his head and furrows his brow at Shouyou, vulnerable. “Am I a terrible boyfriend?” he asks in a quiet voice.

Shouyou reaches for him, pressing a series of sweet kisses against his lips, firm and definite. “Maybe,” he grins cheekily, when he pulls back, “but I really like you a lot, and you remembered that I love honey, so I’m keeping you.”

Tobio blushes with pride and lets his boyfriend’s smile infect his own face, creeping in, until he is too embarrassed and has to look away. “Me too.”

Shouyou considers, for a moment. “What if, on my birthday, we made the recipe together?”

Tobio starts. “You want to?”

“Yeah! It’s a really great idea.” He nods.

“Oh,” says Tobio, pleased. “You know how to bake?” he asks.

“Pffft,” Shouyou buzzes his lips dismissively. “Natsu _always_ wanted sweets and desserts, so I kind of _had_ to learn.” He grins. “I’ll help you, it’ll be really fun.” 

Tobio nods, happy. “Okay. Good.” He lifts a hand to wipe sweat-damp hair off his forehead, and pulls a face at the sticky mess of cum, honey, and saliva on it. Then his eyes trace with mounting disbelief over the spilled flour and spots of cum on the tile floor, Shouyou’s hastily-shed clothing, and his own limp dick hanging half out of his underwear. He looks up abruptly at Shouyou and sees a distinct glob of honey in his hair.

He bursts out laughing. 

Shouyou joins him immediately, and they feed off each other, hysterical, until both of them are clutching their stomachs and tears are spilling out of their eyes. 

“What – a mess,” Tobio wheezes, when he’s capable of words again.

Shouyou sighs happily, and wipes a tear off his cheek. “Let’s clean this up.” He holds out his hand to help his boyfriend to his feet.

It takes them a while, because they keep interrupting their progress to steal kisses and teasing touches that hold a different world of promise now than they used to. And maybe they leave almost all of the dishes in the sink and retire hastily to the bathroom to shower together, finding new excitement in the warm water cascading over their naked bodies and the arousal they can elicit in each other. And perhaps they end up wasting a lot of water failing to clean themselves properly at first, but Tobio’s shuddering orgasm under Shouyou’s eager fingers is probably worth it, so he _has_ to return the favor.

It’s well into the evening, right around sunset when they finally emerge, clean and weary and thoroughly satisfied, to finish up the kitchen and start pondering dinner, collapsing in a comfortable heap on their couch, munching on the pizza they bickered over and finally ordered. 

Life is a lot messier with Shouyou in it, Tobio decides, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If you’re a better baker than Kageyama – high probability – or at least _as_ adventurous, [here’s the recipe](https://www.justonecookbook.com/castella/) I borrowed for this, and which I am very much indebted to)


	6. people stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 6: cold lemonade / crowded marketplace / windy
> 
> **KageHina | age 15 | may**
> 
> Chapter Rating: T/G

It’s too windy to play volleyball outside today, so Tobio is annoyed.

It’s a Sunday, with no practice scheduled. Tobio brought the volleyball and they met at the park between their houses. But Tobio’s tosses all went wonky as soon as they left his hands, no matter how fast Hinata jumped or dove for them. They finally gave up trying ten minutes ago, but neither is sure what to do anymore. 

Hinata seemed to be aware of Tobio’s irritation, and started hovering around him like a hummingbird near a flower. Tobio isn’t sure if Hinata is trying to improve Tobio’s mood or exacerbate it, but he keeps babbling random facts and terrible puns and asking if Tobio has any ideas of what else they could do about the wind.

“Dumbass, I already told you, I don’t know,” says Tobio sharply. He goes to sit on a bench, and Hinata follows him.

Hinata hums the melody to something Tobio doesn’t recognize, and bounces his foot. “There’s lots of clouds, Kageyama,” he observes. “D’you think it’ll rain?”

“I don’t know,” Tobio mutters, glancing at the sky. There _are_ a lot of clouds.

“I thought it’s supposed to get colder if it’s gonna rain,” says the redhead, looking at Tobio with a questioning frown. 

Tobio has no idea. “How am I supposed to know that?” he splutters. 

“We talked about it in science!”

“I don’t remember,” says Tobio, dismissively. “Do you?”

“No.”

“Dumbass.”

“Hey!” Hinata makes a face at him, and lays down in the grass, on his back. He heaves a large sigh. “I don’t want to go home. Natsu has two friends over, and my parents will just make me do homework,” he complains.

Tobio doesn’t want to go home yet, either. His family has gotten used to him spending hours at the park with Hinata every Sunday, so they’re not expecting him back for a while. Plus, if he’s honest, deep down, he likes Hinata’s company. It’s nice, hanging out with him, even when Hinata gets on his nerves or won’t shut up or is terrible at volleyball. 

They’re friends – Tobio _thinks_. They didn’t really talk about it, and a part of him worries that maybe they should, just to be sure. Tobio missed the memo on how most people work years ago, and it’s way too late to try to learn now, he reasons. But still, every so often, he gets a nagging, guilty feeling in his gut, like he ought to know more about friendships and secrets and crushes and emotions and apologies and other things he’s been ignoring most of his life. Whether or not he’s _officially_ friends with Hinata feels like one of these.

Hinata would probably already know, anyway. Even Hinata seems to be better at _people stuff_ than he is. So annoying.

Tobio frowns, and considers for a moment. An opportunity to test the unwritten boundaries of their maybe-friendship is presenting itself, he realizes. He’d be a fool not to take it. 

“What if we did something else?” he asks, trying to sound airy.

Hinata sits up. “Like what?”

Tobio shrugs. “I dunno. Not volleyball?” he asks. He fidgets, nervous. “Where could we go?” He’s willing to bet Hinata might have some ideas, if he doesn’t just turn him down outright. 

“Hmm,” says the redhead, brow furrowing as he wracks his brain. Tobio feels relieved, but it’s not solved, yet.

They both know that the volleyball gym at Karasuno is locked on Sundays, so that’s out. There are other parks around town they could go to, but if the goal is something-that- _isn’t_ -volleyball, just hanging out in a park somewhere doesn’t sound like a real option. And the wind disqualifies the something-that- _is_ -volleyball option, too.

“Oh!” says Hinata. “Is it the 19th?” he asks.

Tobio blinks. “I think so,” he says.

“It’s a market day,” says Hinata. “In town. I read it on a flier I saw.”

“What’s a market day?”

“No idea,” says Hinata, pulling some grass up with his fingers, and letting the wind blow it out of his grasp. “Wanna find out?”

“Okay,” says Tobio. He’s emboldened by the first part of his test seeming to be successful, so he has the sudden urge to be playful. He shoves the volleyball in his rucksack, stands, and immediately takes off running at a full sprint toward the center of town.

“Hey!” Hinata roars. “No fair, Kageyama!” He’s on his feet and chasing the setter down in seconds, shouting after him the whole way.

~

“I… won...” Tobio manages, between huge gulps of air. “Haaah.” He coughs violently, fighting off a wave of nausea.

“You… cheated...” Hinata gripes, panting just as heavily, bent double. “Doesn’t… count.”

When they’re finally both breathing almost normally again, Hinata spots another flier like the one he saw. It tells the boys to go to the main plaza, and when they do, they find rows of little covered booths set up for farmers and vendors to sell things to market-goers. It’s surprisingly busy, the rows buzzing with the activity of shoppers and the calls of salespeople, along with a couple of competing street musicians at opposite corners of the square.

Tobio is, initially, unimpressed – _oh, a market day; obviously a day for markets_ – but Hinata seems interested in wandering up and down the rows, ogling all the food and colorful items for sale and watching the many people coming and going. Tobio decides after about a minute that it’s not terrible, actually, and Hinata’s interest has piqued his own. 

Tobio supposes he should have guessed that Hinata would be genuinely enthused about this – he can turn anything into fun, into a game, into a reason to smile. It’s a nice trait, in a friend, Tobio thinks. You know, since that’s maybe what they are.

Hinata discovers that some of the stalls are offering free samples of foods or beverages, and the redhead is eager to try everything in the entire plaza, of course. He pulls Tobio along, dashing between strangers and meandering happily with wide, wondering eyes. On the way to collect every kind of sample on offer (even things they actually wouldn’t choose to eat normally, daring one another to eat the least-appetizing-looking ones), they also play at delighting each other. At one booth, they try on ridiculous pairs of sunglasses, and Hinata insists on developing cool poses to go along with each pair. At another, they find the eggplants that look the most like dicks, Hinata snorting and giggling behind his hands. A woman selling soft hand-woven fabrics has a cat she lets them pet, and Tobio chuckles when Hinata gets swatted by the cat’s paw. A kite maker talks their ear off about aerodynamics until Hinata spots the next free food item across the row, and Tobio thanks the vendor before racing after him.

Without Tobio even noticing him doing it, Hinata has drawn the joy out of the setter, like a loose strand pulled gently and evenly from a sweater. He’s actually smiling, really enjoying himself and the silly pointless things they choose to do. All he has to do is agree to it, let himself say yes to Hinata’s company and whatever game the next moment might hold. It feels simple, easy, right. Tobio is glad he’s too preoccupied in the moment to wonder at it with any seriousness.

Tobio starts to feel like he should thank Hinata in some way (for a lot of things, maybe) and a passing remark from the redhead about being thirsty gives him an idea. “Wait here, I’ll be right back,” he says, and runs off toward a stall he saw with fresh lemonade. He’s pretty sure he has just enough money on him.

It only takes him maybe two or three minutes to find the lemonade stall and the friendly young woman working there, who asks him too many questions about where he goes to school and whether he thinks it will rain (the clouds _are_ starting to look vaguely threatening, actually) but when Tobio is free of her and finally back to the spot he left Hinata in, the shorter boy isn’t there anymore. 

Tobio spends thirty seconds calling for him, unable to find him anywhere. There’s no response, no shock of bright red hair, no boisterous voice shouting “Over here, Kageyama!” The setter suddenly has a dark and evil thought about whether Hinata wants to be found. That this was maybe an elaborate joke at his expense, to lure him here and then abandon him. 

That they were never friends, of course not. It’s middle school all over again. Tobio doesn’t really make friends, not ever. They’re _rivals_ , and Hinata will just laugh at him at school tomorrow when he shows up to practice, and then the whole team will, too, and his tosses will bounce un-spiked to the floor –

“KAGEYAMA!”

“ _What?!_ ” 

“Geez, you’re deaf. I said your name like four times.”

Oh. “Dumbass. I didn’t know where you went.”

“Well, I didn’t know where _you_ went either.” He holds up a fresh food sample. “Look, the candied fruit stall we visited before put out a new batch! I got one for you before they got snatched up.” Hinata grins, pleased with himself. 

“Oh.” Tobio feels suddenly embarrassed about the wild spiral of his thoughts just a moment before. “Thanks.” 

“What are you holding?” Hinata looks closely at the drinks Tobio holds. “Did you buy lemonade?” He’s excited.

“I – no. Yes. I mean, yes, I did.” He holds it out, awkwardly. “For you,” says Tobio, blushing.

“Thanks!” Hinata smiles and takes a big gulp of it.

Tobio is still coming down from the brief whirl of emotions, so he blurts, “I thought – I thought you maybe left.”

Hinata’s brow furrows at him. “Why would I leave?”

Tobio looks away. “I don’t know.” He tries to shrug dismissively, but it feels more defensive than he intends. He takes a sip of his lemonade, the cool acidic sweetness playing on his tongue, while his eyes dart to Hinata’s, apprehensive.

Hinata’s confusion is still there, but a little bit of a teasing smile plays at the corner of his lips. “Kageyama, did you really think I would just leave without telling you first?”

“No.” Tobio huffs. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Hinata grins at him. “Stupid Kageyama. I wouldn’t just _leave_ , you’re my best friend,” he chides happily. He holds out the candied fruit sample for Tobio to take. “You’re so dumb sometimes.”

Tobio scoffs, taking the candied fruit, but he’s feeling more than relieved, the words _you’re my best friend_ ringing like bells in his ears. “Am not. You’re the dumbass.”

“No, you are.”

“Whatever.” He lets the smile on his best friend’s face twitch the corners of his own mouth, a warm, successful feeling in his chest, or maybe his gut. Tobio might pretend that it’s the lemonade, but he knows better, deep down. 

The candied fruit was something citrus-y before, and now it tastes like apricot. It’s delicious, and both of them enjoy the different fruit flavors in their mouths. Hinata tries to argue with Tobio about which of the candied fruits was better, but for once, Tobio wants to just agree with him. 

The boys learn of the rain before they feel it – other shoppers beginning to exclaim as the droplets fall on them, sudden and fat and warm. Within a minute, the unexpected storm has become a downpour, wind whipping the sudden sheets of rain, and they huddle under a vendor stall, barely out of it, the raindrops splashing their legs and shoes from proximity.

“Did you bring an umbrella?” asks Hinata.

“No. Did you?”

Hinata shakes his head.

Tobio frowns out at it. Some of the vendors are frantically closing up, a murmur in the air like maybe the market day is done early. The rain isn’t letting up.

Tobio finishes his lemonade, and tells Hinata to, as well. “Hurry up, I have an idea.”

Hinata gulps it down. “Finished,” he says. “What is it?”

“Come on,” says Tobio, and takes Hinata’s hand. This is the part he’s most anxious about, but Hinata doesn’t say anything, doesn’t pull away, doesn’t question. 

Tobio sprints out into the rain, and Hinata follows. 

They’re running and soaking and laughing and slipping in puddles, their hair dripping, every inch of them wet. Still, Hinata doesn’t let go of Tobio’s hand, as they run and run and run back to the park, racing past it, under trees that drip on them and along alleys that run with the fallen rain. They get within sight of Tobio’s intended destination.

“We’re going to my house,” he says. “We can dry off, and eat something.” He watches Hinata’s face, trying to gauge that this is still okay. “I have some pro match videos saved that we can watch, maybe.” He hopes it’s enough.

Hinata grins. “We could’ve done that _before_ , Kageyama.” He’s not upset, though – Tobio guesses, with a warm jolt to his stomach, that Hinata is delighted to finally be asked to Tobio’s house. “Let’s go, I’m _drenched._ ” He shakes his impossible red hair and droplets fly everywhere.

“Dumbass,” Tobio sputters, but he’s smiling. Hinata is still holding his hand.

They drip puddles onto the floor of the entryway once they make it into the house, but they mop that up and dry off with some offered towels. Tobio’s mother greets Hinata warmly and offers to make them something to eat, glancing at Tobio in a way that says _I’m proud of you_. Tobio’s ears redden.

Tobio’s mother also makes them both change clothes, telling her son to let Hinata borrow some. She warns them about regulating their body temperatures, telling them it’ll get colder now that the storm came through. 

On the way to Tobio’s bedroom to find fresh clothes, Hinata punches Tobio on the arm.

“Ow! What?”

“I _thought_ it was that.”

“Huh?”

“It gets colder after a storm. I said it earlier.”

Tobio struggles to remember. “You said it got colder _before_ a rainstorm,” he says.

“Close enough,” says Hinata happily.

“Dumbass,” mutters Tobio, and smiles anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing KageHina; they're so delightfully dumb. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave me a comment! <3


	7. list

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 7: abandoned / glass / lipstick
> 
> **DaiSuga | age 25 | march**
> 
> Chapter Rating: T/M (language, brief minor injury)

Koushi has the hiccups, and it’s going to make him cry. On top of everything else. 

_Time for a list,_ he thinks. 

Item. He’s drunk enough not to be entirely sure which direction the apartment is, actually. Not that he’s slowing down – something in his bones seems to need this sulking, hurried pace he’s set, and Koushi thinks it probably has something to do with needing to be _away from here_ as soon as possible. 

Item. His thumb is still bleeding from the shattered glass – the press of people in the crowded bar leading one unwitting mistake into another, a nudge hard enough from a clumsy stranger and his grip slipped. The glass had tumbled and broken on the bar, and Koushi, unthinking, reached to help clean the mess. Stupid. Stupid.

Item. It’s been seven whole years since they graduated from Karasuno, and Daichi only got hotter, because _of course he did._ A perfect weekend, their schedules finally lining up. This serendipitous planned visit to Daichi in Tokyo, overnighting on his couch. The readily accepted invitation to meet at the bar, catch up over drinks. But does that mean Koushi would be able to finally, _finally_ own up to about a decade of feelings? Of course not. 

Coward. Koushi is a coward. 

( _Not just hotter,_ Koushi thinks, because it’s important to be specific while berating oneself. Better in every way that Koushi can remember. Kinder, more patient, and with better dress sense, more attentive, wittier, but with the same warm rumbly laugh, and his hands so gentle on Koushi’s arm, leading him to their booth...) 

Item. Michimiya Yui, with that adorable chin-length bob, and an easy smile, and the _least convenient timing on the continent._ Just when Koushi finally had enough alcohol in him to maybe broach the subject – and Daichi, too, getting cozy and glassy-eyed in a way that made Koushi hopelessly fond of him, leaning over the booth table to stare too long at each other and exclaim for an eighth time _it’s been so long, it’s just been so long,_ even though both of them should know that the time they wasted being _only_ best friends was never wasted time. But she was suddenly there, against all odds, in the same bar, with a different hairdo, and that was all it took apparently. “Sawamura-kun!” she’d exclaimed, “I haven’t seen you since high school!” She got to have his eyes, his smile, his attention, all just because she was _there_.

Item. When Koushi excused himself to take a leak, and returned to see her sitting next to Daichi in the booth, saying something in his ear, leaning in so close, too close. So he turned to get another drink, something to have in his hands, to distract himself.

Item. The glass in his thumb. Koushi may have mentioned it already, actually. But fuck, it still _hurts_ , so one more time.

Item. Koushi drunkenly refusing the bartender’s efforts to keep him there, something about a first aid kit, something about blood on the floor, but Koushi turning away, slipping away. The only person he wanted to see, to speak to, to tell him – _look, Daichi, I’m so stupid, I’m bleeding, Daichi, will you kiss it better?_

Item. Her mouth, on his. The lipstick on Daichi’s stubbly chin, bright pink smeared across warm skin.

Item. These fucking hiccups, and how cold the air is outside in late March, and this shitty nauseous feeling in his gut, and Koushi’s brain nagging that he’s almost certainly not going the right way, and the way the street is blurring in front of him as his stubborn feet slow to a stop, and _oh, I guess we solved the hiccups, at least._

Because now, he’s crying in public. Sobbing, really. Big stupid heaving breaths. Big fat feeling-sorry-for-himself tears that he hates. Big gross nose-goo sniffles that are humiliating to swallow down.

_I thought I promised myself years ago that I wasn’t going to cry over Daichi anymore,_ thinks Koushi.

It’s just so unfair. The universe is particularly unfair. _She completely stole my play,_ he realizes. It was supposed to be _him_ with the kiss in a bar when they were both maybe drunk enough to handle it, but instead the universe had to waltz in in the form of Daichi’s longtime high school crush just to remind Koushi that _Sawamura Daichi is straight_. Always has been, always will be.

Koushi’s phone is buzzing insistently in his pocket. He scrabbles for it. 

It’s Daichi. Of course. _Just act casual,_ thinks Koushi, taking a massive sniffle to try and pull himself together.

“Hello?”

“Suga, thank god,” says Daichi’s voice, relieved. “Where are you?”

“Oh, I just decided to head back,” says Koushi. “Wasn’t feeling well, sorry.” Daichi can’t find out. It’s been far too long.

“You left?” Concern, even with the multitude of background voices. “Suga?”

“Don’t worry about me,” says Koushi, struggling to keep his tone light. “I’ll just meet you back at yours. Okay?” He turns his head away to take a quick shuddering inhale, hand covering the receiver. 

“Suga, you’ve never been to this part of the city before,” says Daichi, the concern rising. “Do you know the way back by yourself?”

“I’ll be f-fine,” he tries to say, but his voice catches. _Shit._

“Oh no. Oh Suga, please...” Daichi breaks off, and Koushi hears something distant like _‘excuse me, let me through’_ before Daichi returns to the receiver. “Where are you? Is there a street sign? I’ll come find you, Suga, please.”

“D-Daichi, you don’t… you sh-shouldn’t –” he blubbers pitifully.

“I’m almost out of the bar. Please let me find you, you’re upset. We’ll go back together, okay? But I need a street sign, Suga, please.”

Koushi’s tears are back, and he lets a few slippery sobs through the receiver while his blurry eyes search for a navigation marker. “Um...” He does eventually find one, and struggles through the kanji. 

“Okay, good. I know where you are.” More muffled noises, and something like _‘yes thank you, good night’_. “I’m outside now, Suga, please stay on the phone with me, I’m coming.”

“D-Daichi...” 

“I’m coming, I promise. It’s not far.”

It’s really only about two minutes of awkward waiting on the phone, Koushi sniffling periodically and attempting a protest that Daichi immediately dismisses. Daichi’s regular updates on his progress, and reassurances that he’s getting closer with every step, hurrying to get there.

Then he comes into view, rounding the corner of Koushi’s block, and starts running. 

“Suga!” He looks so relieved. “There you are, thank god.” He closes the distance between them and pulls Koushi into a hug before he can object. Koushi starts crying hard again, tears falling onto Daichi’s shoulder. Koushi is trying to keep his bleeding thumb uninvolved in the hug, but he’s not sure how well he’s doing. It’s so lovely and warm and distracting, being held by Daichi, nearly everything he’s dreamed about, arms so strong and certain – except that it’s so frustratingly _platonic_.

“Shh, shh, Suga, I’ve got you, I’m here,” says Daichi, rubbing his back. 

Koushi makes himself take a few centering breaths, to slow the tears. He lifts his head off of Daichi’s shoulder, although neither of them lets go yet. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It was Michimiya, right?” He looks apologetic. “You probably saw, when she, um...”

Koushi nods, and one rebellious tear escapes to roll down his cheek. Daichi brings a hand up to wipe it away, sweetly. Koushi takes a breath. “I don’t know why I’m crying, it’s so stupid...”

“Suga. Are you maybe jealous?”

Koushi’s cheeks feel hot, and Daichi’s embrace is suddenly too close. “N-no, it’s just… you’re my best friend, and I just...” he trails off, not finding the excuses he needs. Koushi feels a headache beginning behind his eyes.

“Suga, I’m gay.”

Koushi freezes. “ _What?_ ” 

“I’m gay,” he repeats, a little quieter, with a small, shy smile. “I don’t want to date women.”

Koushi remains utterly flabbergasted, pulling out of Daichi’s arms and stepping back.

“It took me way too goddamn long to figure it out, and I am so sorry about that,” says Daichi, taking a breath. “But I’ll never forgive myself if I’m too late, Suga.” He steps in to close the distance between them again, and tentatively puts a hand on Koushi’s cheek. “Please tell me I’m not too late,” he whispers.

Koushi wonders wildly if being a lot more sober than he currently is would make any of this clearer. But, importantly, he also _desperately_ doesn’t want any of it to stop. “Too late?” He’s scared to breathe. “For – for what?”

They’ve locked eyes, the entire city around them and the existence of anyone else anywhere losing all significance. Daichi seems hesitant, asking permission.

“This,” says Daichi, and he leans in.

His lips are warm, and so is Daichi’s breath on Koushi’s face, as their eyes fall closed. It’s fucking _perfect_ , his lips are so soft and yielding, inviting Koushi’s to explore, to move. Koushi can feel his heartbeat in his face, in his feet, so loud – a drumbeat of celebration. _Daichi kissed me! Daichi is kissing me! He’s kissing me, oh my god!_

Koushi is melting against him, gentle caressing lips becoming more insistent, more emboldened. His hands slide up to Daichi’s face, to pull him even closer than he already is. 

Daichi frowns against Koushi’s lips and pulls back, suddenly. “Why is your hand wet?” he asks, touching the moisture. “Suga, it’s blood! Oh my god, are you bleeding?”

His stupid thumb. He examines the wound where Daichi can see, in the lamplight. It looks worse than it feels. “There was broken glass,” he explains impatiently, “I don’t care.”

“I do!” Daichi gives a laugh of surprise. “I care about you,” he says, caressing Koushi’s face. “I, um, I care about you a lot, and I was stupid and couldn’t figure it out for so long…” He shakes his head. “Let me bandage it, Suga,” he says, “Koushi.” He smiles, a dopey delighted grin. “Come back to my place, Koushi.”

“I’ve wanted you forever,” Koushi admits, feeling like a firework about to go off. “I was going to finally make a move tonight, but she… and I thought…” He laughs, eyes bright. “I can’t believe it,” he says, touching Daichi’s face with reverent fingers. 

“I can’t either.” Daichi’s grin is infectious.

“I was convinced you were straight!” blurts Koushi.

“I promise I’m not,” Daichi chuckles.

“I’m so happy I was wrong, Daichi,” breathes Koushi, and leans in to kiss him, again, indulgent and blissful. “Please take me home. Please.”

Daichi finds Koushi’s uninjured hand, squeezing it in his. “Let’s go.”

There’s so much more to talk about, to puzzle through, to wonder at. A bloody thumb to clean and bandage, and a million more kisses that may turn messy and heated, if only to make up for lost time. In the morning, there might be hangovers, but both of them will have no regrets. And there’s no chance that Koushi is sleeping on the couch tonight, but there is a very good chance that he’s going to be visiting Daichi a hell of a lot more often. 

Koushi starts a new list.

_Item. Daichi’s hand in mine..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments encouraged. <3


	8. captain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 8: roasted marshmallow / barefoot / dandelion
> 
> **DaiSuga | ages 16 & 17 | june-july**
> 
> Chapter Rating: E (smut)

The weekend before Suga turns seventeen, Karasuno has a terrible showing at the first Interhigh of the year, and loses to WakuNan, getting crushed in the second set 14-25.

On Monday, during morning practice, the third-years all huddle on the sidelines while everyone else is stretching, deep in conversation. There are four of them, and they seem serious and resigned. They do eventually join in for stretches, but it’s a difficult, distracted, exhausting practice overall, and Coach Ukai shouts more than usual before the team is really playing like they should.

Daichi watches the worry lines on Suga’s face deepen whenever his eyes flick over to Kojima-san, the third-year setter and captain. 

On Tuesday, when practice finally ends in the afternoon – another long and difficult one; Ukai has been working them so hard lately, as though their effort _now_ could make up for mistakes _prior_ – Suga dawdles in the club room, telling Daichi to walk home without him, this time. 

Daichi frowns. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” says Suga, smiling at Daichi, even though it fades too fast. “Just… something I have to take care of.” Suga’s eyes flicker to the captain, also still in the club room. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Daichi leaves by himself, but doesn’t like it.

He likes it even less when Suga is visibly stressed the next day, watching everyone too closely on the court, overthinking every toss, making a lot of mistakes that he should be over by now, and flinching whenever Ukai calls him out on it. 

“Sorry, Coach!” Suga calls, and he pats his face vigorously as a wake-up call. 

“Hey,” Daichi tries, during Ukai’s smoke break in the middle of practice. “What’s up? You okay?”

“It’s nothing,” says Suga, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll – I’ll tell you about it when we walk home, okay?”

Daichi tries to look pleased, enthused, but he thinks it probably reads as concern. “Okay.”

On the walk home, Daichi makes sure no one is around when he laces Suga’s hand in his own. Suga sighs out, letting the tension he’s been holding melt out of his shoulders, and gives Daichi the most sincere, weary smile of the whole week so far.

“ _There_ you are,” Daichi chuckles, and presses a kiss to Suga’s forehead. “It’s your birthday tomorrow, Suga. Why are you so wound up?”

“Kojima-senpai wants me to be captain next year,” says the setter, biting his lip.

Daichi stops walking, and his eyes widen. “Suga!” He pulls his boyfriend into a massive hug. “That’s fantastic!”

Daichi’s enthusiasm manages to infect Suga, a smile playing at his lips, and then it grows, watching the warmth in Daichi’s eyes. “It… is,” he says, taking a breath. “Isn’t it?” The smile fades.

It fades from Daichi’s face, too. “You don’t think so?”

“God. I’ve been a total stress monster since he asked me,” Suga admits. “It feels like… so much pressure.”

“It’s because you’re going to be the official setter next year,” says Daichi, proudly, and tucks a stray piece of silver hair behind Suga’s ear. “And the setter is –” 

“– the control tower of the whole team, I know.” Suga sighs again. It’s one of Kojima-san’s favorite phrases.

“Hey,” says Daichi, and he pulls Suga closer to him, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. “I think you’re going to be great at it.” He kisses him gently, assuredly, in the street. “I believe in you 110%.”

Suga lets out a laugh, relieved. “I’m so glad I have you.” He cups Daichi’s face, and kisses him again, happily. Daichi tries to convey his faith in Suga through his lips, but they are in public, and should be a little careful, for the moment. Suga pulls away, and glances around. “So am I coming over, or what?” 

“Oh, absolutely. And I’m still spoiling you this weekend.”

“Have I told you how much I don’t deserve you?”

“Not nearly enough.”

The next morning is Thursday, Suga’s birthday. Daichi shows up outside Suga’s house before school with a cluster of white dandelions – perhaps too simple, but he’d spontaneously handpicked them himself, one for every month they’ve been together. All the ways Suga makes him feel summed up in a handful of beautiful, chaotic, vibrant flowers. Daichi is so excited to get through practice and spend the whole day passing lovesick little birthday notes in class and sharing the special bento he made the night before during lunch and altogether making this day as memorable, sweet and fun for Suga as he can.

But something goes wrong, during morning practice.

Ukai collapses. Mid-shout, he suddenly clutches his chest in pain, and his eyes screw up tight, and he staggers and falls from the box he was standing on making them all do diving receives. When the team rush to surround him, he barks that he’s fine, and tries to push himself back up, but his body tenses up tight with pain, and he passes out. Shimizu runs for help.

And a dark cloud settles over the team, over the day.

“I’m cursed,” Suga whispers at lunch, and barely eats any of the birthday bento Daichi made.

“You’re not cursed,” Daichi replies, and tries to laugh, but it dies in his throat when he sees the look on Suga’s face. “You’re not cursed,” he repeats, quieter.

Suga’s worried glance is his only response.

At practice that afternoon, Takeda-sensei rushes in, harried and without answers. “Well, they haven’t told me much of anything, but we’ll all just have to carry on, won’t we?” He smiles at them in a way that is probably meant to be encouraging but feels a lot like pity.

All the third-years apart from the captain leave during the break. Everyone else who stays plays very halfheartedly, and Kojima-san lets them go twenty minutes early.

“We’ll try again tomorrow, and do our best for our fallen coach!” the captain vows.

Daichi has no faith that anyone will, anymore. He can feel Suga’s anxiety from across the gym.

Before the weekend actually comes, a few decisions are made. Saturday practices are canceled indefinitely, while Takeda-sensei scrambles to get the volleyball gym key from Ukai in the hospital. Even weekday practices become voluntary while school is ramping up to end-of-term exams, and one of the first-years actually quits the team. The other third-years also stop showing up, and eventually confess their plans to retire early. 

Additionally, Kojima-san announces that he’ll act as captain until the end of term in July, but that Sugawara will begin assuming the duties of captain and take over completely at the start of the summer break. 

Kojima-san asks Suga to spend the weekend going over all the new responsibilities he’ll be taking on, and of course Suga accepts.

“I’m sorry about our birthday plans, Daichi,” he says, and bites a nail until it bleeds. “We can celebrate together another time, I promise.”

“Of course,” says Daichi, and swallows down everything else. He has to be strong for Suga right now, that’s the thing he needs most.

The dandelions he gave Suga wilt a lot faster than Daichi thought they would.

~

Rescheduling a birthday celebration for Suga quickly gets forgotten, in the slew of new things Suga needs to be for the Flightless Crows, the ways he tries to live up to the example Kojima-san had set. Without a coach, the team needs Suga to lead stretches and plan drills and encourage growth and constructively criticize bad habits and coordinate schedules and organize the daily set-up-and-tear-down and enforce a cleaning routine for the gym and club room and check in with Shimizu about the training camps they probably can’t attend anymore and the practice matches that other teams cancel on them. And, because it’s Suga, and he adds his own high standards, other things he counts among his duties. Checking in with the first-years about their grades. Asking for ideas to decorate the club room walls. Trying to get the team to sign a card for Ukai, organizing a team visit to go see him in the hospital. 

Only Daichi and Suga go to visit, in the end.

Suga’s toss accuracy gets shaky at best, even though he spends every minute he can spare trying to squeeze in extra practice, early in the morning and sometimes skipping lunch and every evening after everyone else goes home for the night. (Well, nearly everyone – Daichi always stays, but he doesn’t like the exhaustion in Suga’s face and body every time.)

Daichi tries to help, to shoulder some of the burden, but Suga is determined to make it work, to make himself fit this image he has in his head, and Daichi has to remind him to stop, to let some things go, to study for his exams. Suga’s guilt leaves a bitter taste in Daichi’s throat.

One time at the end of practice, Suga is carrying too much, by himself, and the heavy bar from the net pole slips in Suga’s grasp. He gasps and staggers, flailing and catching himself against the wall, dropping the pole with a heavy _clang_. The metal leaves an ugly scrape in the lacquer and rolls a few centimeters on the gym floor. Daichi is there, in a flash, checking that he’s okay, that he’s not in pain. And when Suga appears initially unhurt – no blood, no bruises, just an accident, just a scare – Daichi turns to the others. 

“Tanaka, Asahi, carry that together – carefully! Afterwards, get the other one, too. Nishinoya, please fold the net and make sure the ball baskets are returned properly. Kinoshita, Narita, you two will sweep up. I need to make your captain take a break, but I will return to help once I can.”

The wide-eyed nods of the team Daichi ignores, his focus already back on his boyfriend. He helps him out into the evening air outside the volleyball gym. He sits him down in the thin grass, crouching nearby.

“You’re doing too much, Suga. Did you skip lunch again? You have to remember to eat, I’ve been telling you.”

“I know, I know,” Suga’s eyes push closed, and Daichi watches him berating himself.

“It’s okay,” he says, voice going softer. “You’re too hard on yourself, too. I’m walking you home, and we’ll study together until it’s time for you to sleep, okay? Let me take care of you tonight.” He holds his hand, gently in his own.

Suga looks up at him, troubled and exhausted and grateful, and just nods. “Okay. Okay.”

“Stay here,” says Daichi, and hands Suga his water bottle. “Drink that. I’ll make sure they finish properly in there and come get you in a minute.” And he does.

They get through exams together, after Daichi convinces Suga to let practice lapse for the duration. The relief they both feel once classes finally end for the term is immense, but Takeda-sensei has managed to get the gym key from the still-ailing Ukai at last, and he pulls Suga aside to hand it over and discuss the plans for team practices over the summer. 

So the very first day of summer break, when the two of them should be doing any number of relaxing summer things, they are instead hunched on the floor of Suga’s bedroom, with scattered practice notes and drill routines and match information and team rosters and rotation diagrams spread out over nearly every available bit of carpet.

And Daichi looks up in shock. “Suga. We never rescheduled your birthday celebration.”

Suga sighs, holding a chart with the latest data on teams in Tokyo, and looks at him despairingly. “Daichi,” he says, almost frustrated, “I think we both know it’s just not going to happen this year. We’ll celebrate next year, okay? There’s too much going on.”

“Nonsense,” says Daichi, and he pulls the papers from Suga’s hands with certainty. “It’s the very start of summer. There is so much time, now.” He shoves analyses and lists and diagrams aside until he can hold Suga’s hands in his own, touch his face with his rough fingers. “Please, let me spoil you.”

Suga frets. “But, our summer practice schedule –”

“Can wait. This is too important. You are too important, to me.” He kisses Suga, but he can feel the distraction lingering in his boyfriend’s response. “Suga.” He kisses him again, more insistent. Still too worried. “Suga...” He does it again, and again, until Suga is finally melting against his lips and tongue, until the papers are forgotten, until the tension releases and Suga says his name back.

“Daichi...”

And Daichi grins. “We’ll go tomorrow. I know just the thing. I’ll pick you up at 9.”

~

Suga has a dozen guesses on the journey there, and he keeps being surprised and delighted when he’s wrong. They take the train. Daichi has a couple of packed bags, and Suga gets playful, trying to peek at the contents when Daichi isn’t looking. Daichi tickles him when he catches him doing it.

They finally arrive close to noon, and Suga is enthralled. “The beach, Daichi? We’re going to spend the day at the beach?!”

Daichi grins. “Not just the day. We don’t go back until tomorrow morning. And yes, your parents already know.”

Daichi drops the bags when Suga crashes into him, delighted to hug him back. The beach he’s chosen is decently remote from the popular summer spots, and it’s nicely secluded, too. They should be able to get away with all kinds of affection and celebratory shenanigans while they’re here.

Which is good, because there’s lots of that on the agenda. Once Suga realizes he’s safe to let a lot of things go, he’s also free to choose what he wants to occupy his mind instead – and Daichi gladly takes almost all his focus. They slather sunscreen over each other’s skin with affectionate hands, they grab playfully at each other and splash in the waves, they make out on the hot sand, they hold hands and walk barefoot along the beach. They share the lunches Daichi packed and go swimming in the surf. They nap beneath the shade of the umbrella. They laugh and joke and kiss and caress and it’s wonderful. The whole world falls away, letting this perfect day be just for them, every golden moment only theirs. 

At sunset, when the sky puts on a show of pinks and golds and deepening blue, they pitch the small tent Daichi packed to sleep in together, and they build a small bonfire further up the beach. They roast the marshmallows Daichi brought on sticks. They feed each other messily and kiss away the stickiness from each other’s fingers and faces and lips. 

“I’m so happy, Daichi,” Suga whispers, cradled beneath him. “I don’t want it to end,” he says, and his face darkens.

Daichi holds his boyfriend’s face in his palm, lovingly. “Don’t think about tomorrow yet. Not before you have to.” He kisses him.

Suga smiles when Daichi pulls back and lays beside him on the blanket they spread out atop the cooling sand. For a long moment, they watch the first few stars timidly revealing themselves over the ocean. When Suga speaks again, his voice is low and sad, too full of the things he’s supposed to be leaving behind for now. 

“I’m an awful team captain, Daichi.” His boyfriend immediately moves to protest, but Suga looks at him heartbroken and unbending. “I get flustered and I worry so much, I feel so guilty every time I have to ask anyone for _anything_. I’m nothing like Kojima-senpai, and I fear I never will be. If I can’t figure this out soon, we’ll never win again, and no one will join next year. I’ll be the last team captain Karasuno will ever have.”

Daichi turns onto his side. “C’mere,” he says, and gets Suga to mirror him on the blanket. Daichi brought a change of clothes for both of them, but the evening hasn’t gotten cool enough yet, so they’ve been lingering in their swim trunks, which are almost entirely dry by now anyway. The gentlest breeze dances over their bare chests, while the waves crash endlessly a few meters away from their feet.

He reaches for Suga’s hand and takes it in his. “This is a setter’s hand, a captain’s hand. It sends the ball to a hitter with skill, and it clenches in victory when his teammates succeed. It wipes away the hard-earned sweat from a tiring match. I love this hand, and the man attached to it.” He kisses Suga’s fingertips, his knuckles, his palm, with delicacy and earnestness. 

Suga’s breath hitches in his throat. “Daichi...” he whispers adoringly.

Daichi continues, undeterred. He moves to Suga’s forearm. “These are the forearms of my teammate, my captain. They receive the ball however it comes, catching it reliably. They may bruise, but they are strong and sure. I love this forearm.” He pulls it to his lips as well, pressing kiss after kiss onto the skin, nipping lightly just to make Suga giggle and sigh.

Daichi chooses many more body parts – Suga’s clever, quick brain (kisses to his forehead and scalp); Suga’s observant, keen eyes (kissing each eyelid so softly that Suga hums and leans into it); Suga’s powerful, encouraging voice (warm, breathy kisses over Suga’s throat that make him squirm and gasp); Suga’s calm, inspiring words (lingering, heated kisses that caress his tongue, inviting Suga’s into his own mouth). Suga is responding readily to the worship Daichi practices over his body, with a gentle but growing hunger. Daichi knows exactly where this journey they’ve begun ends, but he’s excited to make Suga forget every worry in his head beyond an urgent need only Daichi can satisfy. 

Suga inhales sharply when Daichi’s hand grips his thigh, the thumb flicking up under the hem of Suga’s trunks. “This is my boyfriend’s thigh. Apart from being lovely and strong, it is the thigh of my captain, and it holds both the height of his jump and crouch of his receive. It is sexy and powerful, and I adore every inch.” Daichi’s mouth descends, and Suga moans at the contact, jerking slightly when Daichi’s tongue licks swathes of it, lifting to reach the pale, sensitive skin beneath his swim shorts. Suga’s hands on Daichi’s head and shoulders tense and knead, and Suga’s eyes close. 

“Daichi, mmm. Ohhh...” 

Daichi’s hands and lips and tongue wander over the rest of Suga’s sunkissed skin, nipping and sucking and teasing and worshipping so much of him, being very careful to avoid the stiff bulge growing impatient in Suga’s swim trunks. The setter gasps and squirms and moans and pleads and his hands grow almost frantic, but Daichi keeps all the focus on Suga’s body, on his sensations, his pleasure. He’s so patient and loves every second of Suga coming completely undone like this, watching Suga’s tortured, building release turn into the only thing that matters to him, but still beyond his grasp.

At last, Suga is panting and desperate, whining for Daichi to touch him where he needs him most. 

“You want me to touch you here?” Daichi purrs, finally covering Suga’s erection with his hand over the mesh fabric. 

Suga’s gasp is loud in the evening air. “Please, _unhhh_ , Daichi...”

“Then repeat everything I say, okay?” Daichi watches for Suga’s eyes, waits for his hazy, lust-sodden gaze to register comprehension. His hand slips beneath the elastic of Suga’s swim trunks, and Suga’s fingers grip hard enough to bite into Daichi’s skin. “I’ll stop if you don’t say them back, Suga.”

Suga nods desperately, panting and twitching. “Everything you say.” 

Daichi’s fingers begin to move, watching the sweet warmth of his touch unraveling the setter with each slow stroke. “I am so good,” he prompts.

Suga moans first, but the words come out between hitching breaths. “Nnngh… I’m _so_ good...”

Daichi smiles. “I am competent and capable,” he says.

“I’m… _ohhhhh_ … c-competent, and capable… don’t stop...”

Daichi teases the head with a wicked thumb. “I’m a great setter...”

“Ahhn! Mmmmm...” 

“Suga...” Daichi’s hand stills, and Suga whines. “You didn’t say it. ‘I’m a great setter.’”

“I’m a great setter, Daichi, please...”

“Very good,” says Daichi as he resumes his slow, deliberate strokes over Suga’s hot length. “I am loved by my team, by my friends.”

“I’m lo-loved…! Oh god. I’m loved by my team, and my – my friends,” Suga pants. “ _More_ , Daichi, I need it, please...”

“Yes, Suga, I’ve got you.” Daichi chuckles, and his hand pumps a little faster. “I am proud of my body and my skills...”

“I’m proud, mmm, of my body and my sk-skills, ohhh...”

“I deserve to be happy and feel loved.”

“I d-deserve it, I do… happy and loved, oh, Daichi, I’m getting _close_. Don’t st-stop...”

Daichi watches the tension coiling tighter in his boyfriend’s body, the words getting muddled by Suga’s dizzying need. Daichi decides to be lenient with the precision of Suga’s responses, delighted by the desire he’s enkindled. His grasp is firm and quick, now, steadily guiding the setter all the way to the peak. 

“And I’m one hell of a captain,” is Daichi’s final prompt, as Suga’s moans grow higher and frantic in his ears. 

“I’m… c-captain… Daichi, _fuck...!_ ”

Suga trembles and jerks helplessly, and a second later he comes in a series of sticky spurts and high-pitched whines over Daichi’s fingers and onto the blanket between them. Daichi strokes him through it, slowing before Suga is too sensitive to handle his touch anymore. When Suga’s breathing starts to return to normal, Daichi tucks Suga back into his trunks and pulls him on top of himself. He holds his tired, trembly, satisfied boyfriend as close as he can, to love him through his skin. Daichi presses lazy, adoring kisses to Suga’s forehead, over and over.

“Daichi… that was – _you_ are incredible.” Suga’s hands cup Daichi’s face to kiss him contentedly. “A fantastic birthday present.” He beams and snuggles against him.

Daichi smiles back. “It’s so good to see you happy, again. You’ve been so stressed and tense since the third-years retired. I just really wanted to give you a break from all of that.” He pets Suga’s hair in gentle sweeps with one hand. “You deserve it.”

Suga sighs, and nods. “I know. You believe in me so much, and it means a lot to me. You’re so good.” Suga kisses him again. “God, Daichi, you know what’s awful? I really think if someone else was willing to be captain instead of me… I’d gladly give it up, you know?” He laughs a quiet, unfunny laugh.

An idea blossoms in Daichi’s brain.

“Isn’t that terrible?” asks Suga, biting his lip. He looks at Daichi quizzically. “Daichi?”

“I could do it.”

“...What?”

“ _I_ could do it. I could be captain, instead.”

“Daichi, you don’t have to. Kojima-senpai said –”

“Kojima-san, brilliant captain that he was, does not know what you and I know, and probably never meant for you to stress yourself out to the extent that you have. And I have no deep, burdensome expectations of myself to live up to like you do.” A smile begins to spread over Daichi’s face. “Suga, I really mean it.” 

Suga frets, but he can’t keep a hopeful smile from twitching at his lips. “Oh my god, Daichi. You’re sure?”

“Only if you would be my vice captain,” he blurts, and grins. “I wouldn’t do it without you by my side.”

Suga’s smile widens. “Oh my god. Yeah,” he breathes, and kisses Daichi delightedly. “Oh my _god_ , Daichi, that’s… oh my god, yes.”

“So it’s settled. I’ll be captain, and you’ll be my vice captain, and we’ll figure the rest out from there. Yes?”

“God, yes. You’re the best, holy shit.” He laughs. “Holy shit, Daichi, I love you.” He descends to kiss Daichi repeatedly and happily, and Daichi feels the last of his boyfriend’s tension vanish from his body while he holds him close. 

“I love you too,” Daichi whispers fondly against Suga’s lips.

~

Daichi’s transition is the smoothest, simplest thing. He makes decisions easily, weighing the best option at the time and knowing he’ll adjust down the road as needed. He forgives himself for mistakes, because he has no expectations of perfection. And seamlessly, comfortably, the team falls in behind his easygoing, dependable leadership. 

Suga, free to worry only about his tosses, his teammates, and Daichi, improves as though overnight. He actually enjoys his summer, and gives 110% during practices. Karasuno’s official team setter can do his best, again, and know that it’s all his team really needs.

The only thing Karasuno’s new captain feels any fear about is his team’s ability to win in the uncertain future, with no coach, a well-meaning but clueless sensei, and only a ragtag group of intense, committed club members. But Daichi knows all he can do is set a good example, work hard, encourage everyone, and hope for the best. When he can’t shrug off his worries, he lets Suga distract him, with sweet words to soothe him and sweeter arms to hold him. And they face the uncertain future hand in hand. 

Together, they become the team’s hope, and its stable, steady core. The Crows may lack wings for a while, but no one can say they don’t have a solid, beating heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Thanks to this prompt I found out White Dandelions are a thing in Japan, and [oh my god look at them](https://www.rareseeds.com/store/vegetables/new-items-2020/japanese-white-dandelion) that's so cool!!)


	9. accepted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 9: headache / neon / blurry vision
> 
> **TsukkiYama | age 27 | december**
> 
> Chapter Rating: M (depiction of a hate crime, major character injury, implied homophobic slur)

Kei stumbles, just a little, and his shoulder collides with Tadashi’s, right next to him. They’re both tipsy and giggling, holding hands in the street on the way back to their apartment from the party tonight, and Kei is distracted by the radiant grin that Tadashi can’t seem to stop wearing all over his face. Kei thinks to himself, _I don’t think I could have wished for a better day._

To begin with, the Sendai Frogs have been on a solid winning streak lately, their new teammates gelling really well with the old guard, and both Kei and Tadashi were very fired up about their chances in the next round of qualifiers in February. They’d won again earlier that afternoon, a grueling game, but only two sets – haloed in the sweat of exertion, 26-24 when the final whistle blew. Tadashi had screamed Kei’s name in the stands loud enough to pick out over the other cheers and shouts in the gymnasium. 

The champagne had flowed freely that evening at the Sendai City Museum, at the end-of-year party that coincided perfectly with the latest exhibit opening – a study of the culture and lifestyle of the earliest Japanese peoples, who found themselves stranded on the newly-formed island, after the land bridge from the rest of the Asian continent disappeared. The museum’s staff, including Kei, had all worked very hard over several months to source the artifacts on display and collect the latest in relevant prehistoric anthropological research. All the major donors had been present for the party this evening, and the atmosphere was celebratory and jovial, with many exclamations about the collective efforts of the museum employees and research consultants across the prefecture and nation. There was even talk of the exhibit going on a national tour sometime in the future.

Tadashi had been his date to the end-of-year party tonight, looking so handsome and charming in his rented tuxedo, long hair pulled back neatly, with some wisps falling free to make him look effortlessly gorgeous. Most of Kei’s department was aware of Kei and Tadashi’s relationship now, after more than four years of working there. Kei was still somewhat careful who found out and in what context, but no one who they’d confided in thus far had been irreparably alarmed or disgusted by them. It felt like acceptance, actually – quiet, and unremarkable, perhaps, but also just an undeniable fact of Kei’s life. Exactly as it should be.

And, not long after Kei had arrived at the museum for the party, Kei’s boss, Kuroda-san, had pulled him aside to congratulate Kei on his efforts in particular, informing him that his supervisors had noticed Kei’s dedication and hoped to reward it. They were willing, apparently, to consider future exhibit proposals in Kei’s areas of expertise, and Kuroda-san would begin assisting Kei in developing those proposals in the new year.

He’d found Tadashi, after leaving Kuroda-san’s office early in the party, pulling him by the sleeve to the alcove by the bathrooms. Safely just out of sight, Kei had pulled Tadashi in close, kissing him with a passion usually reserved for more private spaces. 

“Kei...” Tadashi had breathed against his lips, enchanted, but seeking to understand where this was coming from.

“They want me to spearhead the next round of proposals, Tadashi,” Kei had responded, a little breathlessly. “They’re really pleased with my work, and they’re willing to consider my areas of interest.” His eyes were bright and excited behind the lenses of his glasses.

Tadashi’s eyes had widened, the implication dawning on him. “Kei!” He’d broken into a delighted grin, and tightened his grip around Kei’s waist. “You’ve been working toward this for so long!” He’d leaned up to press his mouth happily against Kei’s again, brimming with pride and relief. 

“I love you so much,” Kei had whispered ardently against Tadashi’s lips. “Let’s really celebrate at home later, yeah?”

“Absolutely, Kei.” 

They’d grinned secret, happy smiles at each other, taking a moment to make sure no clothes were unduly out of place, before rejoining the party together. 

But now, after several glasses of champagne, and sappy, grateful speeches from a handful of the museum’s executives, along with music, dancing, joyful conversation with colleagues and so many fond shared smiles between Kei and Tadashi all evening, they’re finally heading home together. 

All in all, a truly fantastic day in an already great weekend. 

Really, the only drawback to this amazing day is that champagne always gives Kei a headache. It’s too sweet, and the effervescence combined with the sugar content is generally too much for Kei’s palate, even without the usual side effect. He can already feel the pressure beginning behind his eyes, but it’s nothing he won’t be able to sleep off, and it’s not enough to ruin his good mood.

They took Kei’s usual bus to the venue, but it’s too late for the bus to run now. It’s only about a 40 minute walk back to their apartment, and neither minds it, even though it will be nearly one in the morning when they get there. The bite in the air is being held at bay by the warm glow of alcohol in their bellies, despite the half-inch of snow that fell this morning. 

Ten minutes into the walk back, Kei suggests they turn down a different street, to cut over earlier. It shouldn’t make a difference to the journey, apart from a change of scenery. Tadashi sways and smiles easily at his boyfriend, nodding in agreement. He’s humming a lilting melody from a video game and drunkenly bumping into Kei’s shoulder with every other step, like a little reminder. _Hey,_ Tadashi says with a gentle nudge, _I love you._

Kei finally notices that it’s started to snow again when he sees the flakes landing gently in Tadashi’s hair. He’s too cute, his eyes shining in the street lights, rosy-cheeked and completely enamored. Kei slows to a stop beneath a street lamp, pulling Tadashi in against him. “Keep humming,” he says in a low voice.

Tadashi pauses only for a moment, then resumes, as requested, a question in his eyes. Kei adjusts his hands – one on Tadashi’s waist, another lacing with his fingers. He moves Tadashi’s free hand to his shoulder. A waltz.

They attempt a few stumbling waltz steps together, giddy and romantic and clumsy, before Tadashi loses the timing of the melody to a fit of giggles. Kei is too in love with him to chide with any seriousness, so instead he draws Tadashi’s body in close, a swaying embrace that is still just enough of a dance, but requires nothing more than his lover’s arms. Their lips lock sweetly, easily, gently, again and again. They melt together, lost in the dreamy haze of it, this perfect moment, and their own world.

“Well, look at what we got here,” says an unfamiliar voice, taunting and gruff. 

Kei abruptly breaks their kiss to notice the five strangers gathered like an ominous cloud, blocking the path in front of them. A tense feeling settles in his stomach, curdling. A few of the men snicker. Kei clears his throat.

“Sorry, gentlemen. We’ll be going now,” says Kei, the polite words delivered as firmly as he can manage. Tadashi grips his arm, tightly. Kei starts to move toward them, past them. _Just let us go,_ he pleads with the universe.

One of the jeering men spits an ugly, hateful word from his tongue, a weapon. Kei’s fists clench.

“Let us pass,” he demands, evenly. 

Two of the strangers break off to circle behind them. _Trapped,_ Kei realizes. He hears evil chuckles. 

“K-Kei,” is Tadashi’s terrified warning, a tiny exhale.

Kei is angry. _How dare they. How DARE they._ He steps up to the leader, intimidating him with his height as much as he can, every centimeter. 

“Move,” is his final warning, gritted teeth. 

“Or what?” smirks the awful man, and he punctuates it by repeating the hateful name used before. 

Kei’s fist knocks the wind out of him, solidly, his greasy paunch going concave, doubling over. “Run!” Kei yells, but Tadashi needs not be told. They’re hurrying and skidding on the new-slick sidewalk, moving fast, but not fast enough. Tadashi slips, his dress shoes unfairly hindered in the treacherous white snow. 

Kei won’t ever leave him, won’t let go, slowing to help him, and it’s just enough time for the ravenous dogs to catch them. 

They’re yelling obscene, sickening vitriol, now, throwing punches and aiming kicks. Kei turns ferocious, protective, screaming back at them, lashing out, anything to keep them from hurting Tadashi. _Don’t touch him,_ he shouts with his fists. _None of you deserve to even look at him,_ his foot asserts. Kei is fast and sharp, better at this than he thought he would be, even while drunk, his lean body responding readily to every urgent command he issues. His elbow crunches one of their noses, and the victim hollers in pain. He shoves another backwards into the street, and that one almost loses his balance on the curb. He grabs and throws another oaf to the ground with a roar, but that finally earns Kei a vicious retaliatory punch to the gut from the leader, just in the right spot. He struggles to breathe, the oxygen too shallow for his reeling lungs, and the tide turns suddenly, inevitably. Blow after merciless blow rains down on him, everywhere. His arms move to protect his head, his face.

It drives Kei to his knees, the onslaught, and then the kicks force him the rest of the way down. He curls up tight against it, the pain radiating from every part of him, sharp and white-hot. Through all of it, his ears pick out Tadashi’s sobbing pleas, and his frenzied shouts for help.

A moment that feels like an hour later, the group suddenly disperses, leaving him clenched and trembling on the wet concrete, where Tadashi’s hands find him, touch him, wrap around him desperately. Everything hurts, and he can’t see. Kei must have lost his glasses at some point, but the blurry face of the man he loves is right there, wide, panicked eyes full of tears. 

He starts to take inventory, but it quickly overwhelms him. There’s blood in Kei’s mouth, and he can’t inhale without an excruciating rush of pain along his side, and one of Kei’s eyes doesn’t want to open as wide as it used to. He unfolds from his crumpled aftermath, just a little, rolling. A massive spasm of pain. Shaking fingers find Tadashi’s cheek, to feel the warm salt of his desperate tears slipping over Kei’s bleeding knuckles. 

“K-Kei,” Tadashi chokes, mournful and panicked. “Kei… oh my god, Kei, K-Kei...” 

“I’ve… got you,” Kei fights out, every syllable exacting a terrible price. He coughs twice, shallow, but it feels like his ribcage is on fire. “They’re gone.” He feels triumphant, dizzy. “They... can’t… touch you.” He lets his eyes close, sudden exhaustion washing over him. 

And the cold, beckoning. It’s so cold.

“Kei…!”

“Mine,” says Kei in a whisper, trying to smile at him. “Love… you...”

“ _Kei!_ ”

~

Kei’s memory blurs and shifts, only fragments at a time: 

His body unfurling painfully, stiff and sore, worse than any volleyball practice.

Tadashi’s face, full of fear.

Snowflakes, thicker than before, swirling above him in the lamplight.

The vital importance that Kei tell Tadashi he loves him. (He probably did say it, but best to be sure.)

The cold. It’s very cold.

Tadashi’s hand in his, squeezing. Tadashi’s voice, saying something like _coming here soon_ , and something else like _got you_ and _stay with me._

Blood, smeared on Tadashi’s beautiful fingers. (Whose blood? How dare they.)

A world of pain he can only escape from with darkness.

More hands, the sensation of movement.

A neon sign, blinking something Kei can’t read. It’s moving too fast, anyway. 

He’s in a vehicle, apparently. There are strangers again, but these ones aren’t hurting him. 

A lot of jostling, but Kei is laying down. It doesn’t really make sense.

Tadashi’s face, again, telling him _it’s okay, it’s going to be okay._ He tries to say “of course it is, you’re right here.” Something is wrong with Kei’s mouth.

A lot of voices, too loud, buzzing with urgency. Garish ceiling lights, at regular intervals. Kei slips back into a comfortable darkness.

~

Kei’s awareness drifts in slowly, sluggishly. He’s in an unfamiliar bed. Where are his glasses? The room is stark, cheerful but too white. The sunlight creeping in at his window is weak and timid. Maybe it’s early? There’s an incessant beeping. Tubes... connected to his forearm. _A hospital,_ he realizes. 

Tadashi isn’t there. The beeping speeds up.

“Tadashi,” he says. His speech is rough, slurred. “Tadashi,” he insists, louder. He tries to look around for him, frowning. He feels suddenly vulnerable, weak and lost. It threatens to overwhelm him.

He attempts a deep inhale, wanting to shout for him, but the hot spasm of pain in his side turns it into a wordless cry. The beeping gets even more insistent.

“You’re awake,” says a female voice, at the door. 

He turns. The rough outline of a nurse, in his blurred vision. “Tadashi,” he begs, but it sounds weak and drunk in his ears.

“Calm down, Tsukishima-san, please,” she says, checking on the machines, and laying a hand on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t move much, if you can help it.”

Kei frowns, again. His weary brain comes up with an insistent phrase. “Yamaguchi Tadashi,” he manages, and he’s pleased at how coherent that sounded. “Please,” he adds.

“Oh,” she says, eyes widening. “Your roommate. Yes, I think he’s here. One moment. Please lie still, I’ll get him, okay?”

Kei nods, finally calmer. He settles back into the bed, taking shallow breaths, just up to the point where the pain wants to pierce through.

After a long, impatient minute or two, Tadashi finally appears at the door. The sun bursts through the clouds in Kei’s heart.

“Kei,” Tadashi exhales, like he’s been holding it in. He glances at the nurse. “Ts-Tsukki.” He can’t keep the joy from exploding across his face, as he rushes to Kei’s side. 

Kei could almost cry, he’s so relieved. “Tadashi,” he whispers, but he doesn’t care who hears. “Tadashi.” The tightness he hadn’t noticed curling around his chest unfurls, and his heartbeat quickens on the monitor.

The nurse has almost certainly figured out far too much, but she’s trying to hide her smile. “I’ll come check on you in a little bit, Tsukishima-san,” she says, with endearing professionalism, and pulls the door shut behind her, leaving them alone in the room.

Tadashi’s tentative hand lands gently on Kei’s cheek, fingers sweeping messy golden hair aside. He leans down and plants the softest kiss on Kei’s forehead. “They wouldn’t let me sleep here, Kei, I’m so sorry, I told them we’re roommates,” he blurts in a rush. Kei’s hand reaches for Tadashi’s other one, and he obliges, sliding their palms together. Tadashi’s eyes are tense and tired, swimming into focus, and Kei takes stock of him, all of him, making sure he’s really there and still in one piece. 

He seems okay, just tense and underslept. His frazzled hair is escaping from the loose bun behind Tadashi’s head. He’s holding his coat from the night before, and Kei sees the damage to the tux he’s still wearing. It’s stained in several places, and one sleeve is torn. Tadashi has a small cut on his cheek, a ragged purple bruise forming around it. The whole thing has been bandaged and dealt with already. Kei needs to know. 

“You’re okay?” he asks, worried. “They didn’t...” he pauses to breathe, shallow around the injury to his rib, “...hurt you?”

“A couple bruises, but I’m fine. I’m _fine,_ Kei – you fought them so _much,_ they barely touched me,” Tadashi says, wonderingly, shaking his head. “A nurse patched me up, gave me painkillers. Made me drink water. I’m fine,” he repeats, smiling, stroking Kei’s cheek fondly. 

Kei’s heart thuds in victory. Tadashi is okay. He _won_. 

“I never left,” says Tadashi, like he’s confessing his sins, “but they wouldn’t let me be here, Kei. I was so _worried._ They think you broke a rib, Kei,” says Tadashi, biting a lip. His thumb brushes anxiously over Kei’s face, and he glances down at Kei’s body. Kei notices for the first time that he’s wearing a hospital gown. “They were concerned about a possible concussion, and – and exposure to the cold. You’re going to have to stay here for a while, Kei, I’m sorry,” says Tadashi, and his eyes are crinkled with worry. 

“Mm,” Kei hums. “Don’t care,” he mumbles. “You’re here.” Smiling hurts, but it’s worth it.

Tadashi exhales, relieved, smiling back. He frowns again. “They broke your glasses, too, Kei, I’m so sorry. I have them, but they’re useless.”

“Don’t care,” says Kei again, shaking his head just a little. “I have _you_.”

Tadashi smiles at him, but something is wrong – Kei sees it, not quite in focus enough to know exactly. He hears Tadashi’s deep, sudden, wet inhale, and realizes it’s tears. Tadashi’s hand lifts from Kei’s face to scrub at his own, failing to hide the little gasping sniffles hissing from his mouth. 

“C’mere,” says Kei.

Tadashi gives in and falls forward slowly, gently, careful, forehead on Kei’s shoulder. “They h-hurt you, and I was s-so scared, K-Kei. I was so _scared,_ I’m s-sorry...” Tadashi’s gulping sobs shake his shoulders against Kei’s body. 

“Shhh,” he shushes, bringing a hand up to stroke Tadashi’s hair. “Shhhh. Got you… _love_ you. So much.”

Tadashi cries. “I love you,” he sobs against Kei’s collarbone. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

“So much,” Kei affirms, and he reaches to press his lips to Tadashi’s hair. “I’m okay,” he says, because Tadashi needs to hear it. “I’m okay.” He kisses his forehead. “Tadashi,” he says, so in love.

Tadashi bravely lifts his head from Kei’s shoulder, and wipes quickly at his tear-stained cheeks. He slides his palm to cup Kei’s face, under his ear. He smiles at Kei as widely as he can, unguarded and bright, still afraid and unsure, but committed. It’s soul-deep. Kei loves him with his entire heart, like no one else. 

“Marry me,” he says.

Tadashi’s mouth falls open. “K-Kei...”

“I’ll get a ring,” he says, and tries to ignore the protest from his side, wincing a little. “I’ll tell your parents.” He’s never been so certain of anything, no matter how spontaneous his words are. “I’m serious.”

“It’s – we can’t, it’s not legal,” says Tadashi, but his eyes are dancing with excitement. “ _Kei,_ ” he exhales.

“Marry me,” Kei insists, and he reaches for Tadashi’s hand, pulling it to his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Oh my god.” He leans down as carefully as he can, to give Kei the gentlest passionate kiss he can muster. “Oh my god, Kei, of _course_ I will.” He presses frustrated lips against Kei’s, several times. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to hurt you,” he laughs, as a couple of tears escape from Tadashi’s brimming eyes.

“You couldn’t,” huffs Kei in a laugh that almost doesn’t hurt. “Come here.”

They share several tender, gentle kisses, an IOU for so much more, a _lifetime_ of more. Kei’s eyes are spilling too, by the end. When they break apart, Tadashi rests his forehead against Kei’s, and Kei is so happy that he’s suddenly exhausted.

“Stay with me,” he says, and he pats the hospital bed on the opposite side from his injured rib. 

“You – Kei, but I… you’re injured, we can’t...” Tadashi is delighted, slightly anxious, smiling.

“You need sleep,” says Kei, “me too.” His amber eyes hold Tadashi’s dark ones with sincerity. “I love you. I sleep better… with you. Breathe better,” he says, and tries a deeper breath, to demonstrate, and it’s actually not as painful this time. “Tadashi,” he says, proud of himself.

Tadashi’s eyes crinkle at him with warmth. “I love you, too. Okay,” he nods. He tosses his coat into the chair nearby, and sheds his jacket, bowtie, and shoes. He unbuttons his dress shirt. 

Kei shifts himself over, carefully making space, first his shoulders, and then his lower half, wincing. Tadashi watches him, making sure he’s not over-exerting or re-injuring himself. When they’re both satisfied, Tadashi climbs onto the small hospital bed, positioning himself carefully next to Kei. Kei’s arms envelop him as much as he can, and Tadashi’s head falls against Kei’s shoulder once more. Kei kisses his forehead, and closes his eyes with a smile. 

It really does feel easier to breathe, like this, and the warmth of his boyfriend’s – _fiancé’s_ – body is comforting and soft. It’s not long at all before they both drift asleep.

Whether the nurse returns to find them or not, and what she thought of the two of them laying in Kei’s bed together, she doesn’t say. When they wake hours later, they’re still in the same position, holding each other close, unwilling to ever let go. 

~

When Kei finally returns to work, several days later, he’s wearing his new glasses and walking slowly because of his rib. His eye still sports a large colorful bruise around it, but most of the rest have started to fade, and the painkillers he’s on will grant him enough patience to work without leaving him loopy, he hopes. 

The fractured rib will take months, but he’s already getting used to it. 

Kei approaches his workspace, coat on his arm, work bag in hand, almost painfully aware of the stares and whispers of his colleagues. He finds a note on his desk. _See me please,_ in Kuroda-san’s handwriting.

The bottom falls out of his stomach. He closes his eyes, takes a painful breath that can’t really go deep enough to steady him. 

Kei turns, to take the long walk to Kuroda-san’s office. His eyes linger on the walls, the carpet. His colleagues’ desks. Of course too many people found out. They weren’t careful enough. Probably the end-of-year party – someone saw them kiss. A donor, if Kei had to guess. 

It had been so nice working here, too.

“Close the door, please,” say Kuroda-san, when he comes in. He looks concerned, trying to smile at him pitifully. “Have a seat.”

Kei hates this. He winces at the pain in his side as he lowers himself slowly into the chair.

Kuroda-san fishes in his desk drawer. Kei glances out the window at the buildings nearby, the grey December light filtering through the cloud cover.

“I’m sorry,” he starts to say, but Kuroda-san has found what he was looking for. He isn’t holding termination paperwork.

Also, Kei notices suddenly, there’s a rainbow flag pin on his lapel.

“It’s not much yet,” says Kuroda-san, pushing a thin slip of paper into Kei’s hands. _A check,_ Kei realizes. A check? “I only talked to our department, because I wanted to confirm it was okay with you before I asked anyone else.” Kei is bewildered and speechless. “But I think a lot of people at the Museum would want to help,” says Kuroda-san, “maybe more than you think.” 

Kei’s mouth opens, staring at Kuroda-san with no words to offer. 

“It should cover the ruined tuxedos, at least.” The older man is apologetic, nervous. Kei reads the number on the check in his hand, and his heartbeat pounds in his ears. Kuroda-san’s anxiety overflows. “I’m so sorry for what happened to you, Tsukishima-kun. To you both. We all are. I can’t believe people like that still exist. You do not deserve that, and neither does Yamaguchi-san, and I – the whole department – this _museum_ is so lucky to have you. Please, we want you to know.” He gestures at the check. “ _Please_ accept it.”

“I –” Kei stutters. “I – you – I’m not fired?”

“Good god! No. Absolutely not.”

Kei is speechless again.

“Please, take the money. We collected it for you as a department. Your colleagues each donated. Please.” Kuroda-san looks at him, fatherly, with kindness.

“Okay,” says Kei, stupefied. “I mean, oh, yes, my god. Thank you, Kuroda-san. Thank you, thank you so much.” He rushes instinctively to stand and bow, but his broken rib protests, a sharp spasm of pain. He falls back into the chair.

“No, no! Please. Sit. Tsukishima-kun, it’s the least we can do. We will all strive to make you know how much you belong. We want you here.” He smiles at Kei, warmly. Sincere.

For the first time, Kei smiles back.

“And the first step is your exhibit proposals,” says Kuroda-san, changing the topic. “Let’s start right now.”

More bewilderment. “I thought you mentioned... waiting until the new year?”

“Tsukishima-kun, I know you have ideas already. My morning is free.” He reaches and pulls a notepad from under a stack of papers, and then a pen. “The whole morning, if you want. So, let’s begin.” His eyes lock with Kei’s, expectant and eager.

_Okay,_ thinks Kei, and his chest swells with pride, with hope. With something that feels warm and light, and blessedly, his broken rib barely hurts at all in its wake.

“Okay,” he nods, and they begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry)
> 
> Apparently, this prompt hit me right in my gay little feelings... I kind of love how it turned out, though? Like, it might be my favorite?? ahhh
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Leave me a comment if you want! <3


	10. something new

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 10: lock / ticking clock / bored
> 
> **TsukkiYama | age 17 | april**
> 
> Chapter Rating: E (smut)

Kei sighs, and sets his Japanese Lit homework aside, taking off his glasses for a moment to massage the bridge of his nose and the spot behind his ears where they’ve rubbed a little from constant wear. He’s feeling very bored, and the chapter he’s supposed to be internalizing isn’t sticking in his brain. Kei unlocks his phone screen to read the time – 2:47 PM – and sighs again, noting with annoyance that it’s only been one minute since the last time he checked. He re-locks the screen, willing something interesting to happen. 

Yamaguchi’s handheld console is chirping quietly from his lap, where Yamaguchi is half-sprawled, leaning against the bed that Kei sits on. 

“Bored,” groans Kei, watching for Yamaguchi’s reaction. “Reading this is killing me.”

“One sec, Tsukki,” says Yamaguchi, distracted.

Kei tunes into the chippy battle music from Yamaguchi’s game, following the whimsically threatening melody for a few bars. Kei knows from watching over Yamaguchi’s shoulder earlier that it’s a timed event, a monster to defeat before the clock ticks down to zero. 

Kei briefly envisions his Japanese Lit book growing legs and teeth to attack him, the clock in the corner of his mind ticking down to class on Monday morning. He suppresses the urge to smile.

About twenty seconds later, the battle music chirps a triumphant little fanfare, and then goes quiet as Yamaguchi saves the game and sets it aside. He stands up and leans one knee on the bed, with a smile. “What is it, Tsukki?”

Kei pokes the book toward him, lazily. Yamaguchi’s neck cranes slightly to orient the text correctly in his vision. “Oh,” he says, and makes a face. “Yeah, I finished yesterday. It’s pretty boring, huh?”

“I don’t wanna read anymore.”

“Hmm,” hums Yamaguchi, climbing onto the mattress to sit next to Kei. He moves the abandoned homework to Kei’s bedside table. “No news yet?”

Kei reaches for his phone, unlocking it to check. 2:49 PM. “Nothing,” he says. “Although my mom mentioned the snow might slow them down.” Kei’s parents are gone for a day trip to visit Akiteru, but some unexpected April snowfall delayed the trains, according to the last text Kei received.

Yamaguchi’s finger traces an abstract pattern on Kei’s thigh, and Kei watches the spirals and whorls briefly outlined in the denim of his jeans. Yamaguchi notices Kei watching, and with a smile, he shifts to lie on his stomach, chin on one of Kei’s thighs, tracing the kanji for _Tsukishima_ and then _Yamaguchi_ on the other leg with his fingertip. 

Kei smirks. It’s cute. Everything about his boyfriend is adorable.

With his own fingertip, Kei traces the same kanji onto the skin of Yamaguchi’s back, reversing the words – _Yamaguchi_ and then _Tsukishima_. The fabric of his shirt probably muddles the character clarity somewhat, but Yamaguchi still grins with recognition, and he whispers the names aloud as Kei traces.

Emboldened, Yamaguchi’s finger dances steadily over Kei’s thigh again – new kanji. Tsukishima smirks and repeats it over Yamaguchi’s back – _snow_ and _cold_. 

It’s a game now, and Yamaguchi is delighted. His fingertip moves smoothly, leaving Kei a little tinglier in its wake. _Tall_ and _boyfriend_. Kei smiles again, and changes his fingertip’s response – _boyfriend_ and _cute_. 

“Cute,” murmurs Yamaguchi in recognition. He chuckles. 

“My turn,” Kei says, and Yamaguchi obligingly stretches out, adjusting his shirt to give him a cleaner canvas. Kei’s finger moves slowly, deliberately. 

“Freckles?” asks Yamaguchi in surprise, and Kei nods. Yamaguchi grins. His fingertip traces _glasses_ into Kei’s thigh. When Yamaguchi looks up to see if he understood, Kei taps his glasses with two fingers, and Yamaguchi nods. “You got it, Tsukki,” he says happily.

Then Yamaguchi’s face changes, turning more serious. 

“What is it?” asks Kei. 

“This one is important,” says Yamaguchi. He seems a little hesitant, but Kei knows to be patient. He nods, encouraging him to proceed.

Yamaguchi traces slow and steady.

“Love,” says Kei, and his heart beats a little faster.

Yamaguchi nods shyly, and he sits up and moves away just a little, looking up at Kei with big, vulnerable eyes. Kei sees the blush that has stolen over Yamaguchi’s face, the fidget in his hands. “I, um. I love you, Tsukki.”

He’s never said it before – neither of them has, but Kei realizes he’s been feeling it and thinking it all the time lately. It’s probably not very fair to Yamaguchi that he’s withheld it, even unwittingly. Kei takes a breath.

“Me too,” he says, voice a little thicker than he hoped. “I – I love you, too.” It doesn’t sound convincing enough, in his ears, so Kei adds, “Tadashi.”

“Kei.” Yamaguchi’s eyes widen, and a grin breaks out over his face. He lifts himself and moves, bringing his lips to meet Kei’s, lingering for a moment. “I didn’t think you’d say it back,” says Yamaguchi, wonderingly.

“But I did,” says Kei, and decides to keep being bravely uncool, because it’s Yamaguchi, and it’s always safe to be uncool around him when they’re alone like this. “Because I do.”

“Say it again,” Yamaguchi goads him, bouncing.

( _Uncool_ is different than _lame_ , Kei knows. It took him a while to learn this – maybe too long, he muses – but Yamaguchi is _never_ lame, and loving Yamaguchi is about the furthest thing from lame, and Kei is wholly unashamed to admit it.) “I love you, Tadashi,” says Kei, and feels better about the way the words leave his mouth, this time.

Yamaguchi kisses him again, a bit more enthusiastically. “It’s _really_ great to hear you tell me, Tsukki.” His smile warms the whole room. “And to say it too! _I love you,_ Kei. I love you. I love y–” 

Kei’s lips swallow the sweetness of his boyfriend’s words, hands coming up to hold his face, tongue licking at his mouth until Yamaguchi’s tongue licks back. Yamaguchi moves to straddle Kei’s thighs, and his hands slip around Kei’s waist, playfully under his shirt. Kei hums approval against his lips, leaning in, trying to tell Yamaguchi all the things he suspects he’s better at saying without words. Yamaguchi’s fingertips tease his sides, skate over his stomach, grab at the muscles of his lower back. Kei likes the too-soft skitter of the fabric over his skin, the hems constantly disturbed by his boyfriend’s meandering hands.

Kei starts to feel like he needs more, wants something more significant for them both to mark this milestone. He puts some heartfelt and emphatic messages into his kisses, repeating the most important ones earnestly, and pulling some lovely, similar sentiments from Yamaguchi’s willing mouth. After a long moment of this, Kei kisses Yamaguchi firmly and pulls him back. “I love you,” he says, watching Yamaguchi’s eyes go soft and joyous. Then Kei moves his hips under Yamaguchi, suggesting in a more overt way than he has thus far. “Can we?”

They have, of course, before – they do fairly frequently – but Kei realizes he’s asking for something new, something to share that merits their first ‘I love you’s as a couple. So he adds, “Um, we don’t have to,” and hopes Yamaguchi will understand, like he so often does. Yamaguchi understands Kei better than anyone, and he always, always has.

“You want to, Tsukki?” asks Yamaguchi, and he moves his hips, too, causing Kei to make a soft sound, to confirm with the barest nod of his head. Yamaguchi smiles at him. “I do too.” He moves his hips again, smirking at Kei’s excited reaction. Yamaguchi leans in to kiss Kei, slower, more intently. A promise. 

Kei starts to let himself melt against Yamaguchi’s lips, starts to let his warm breaths pet Yamaguchi’s face. But Yamaguchi pulls back, breaks off. “Um, Tsukki,” he says, and his eyes hold hesitation. Kei wonders if he’s missed something. 

“We don’t have to,” Kei repeats, and he wants Yamaguchi to know he loves him so much that he’d give up every urge if that made him more comfortable. Would gladly settle for so much less than they already share.

“No, it’s not that. I just – um.” Yamaguchi fidgets, for a moment. “I saw… something.” His eyes watch Kei’s, seeking. “Something I want to try.” Kei starts to smile. Yamaguchi stumbles on. “Um, it’s not – Tsukki, it’s not… we haven’t talked about – I’m not _ready,_ for that, um.” He looks apologetic. “But it’s, um. Different.” 

It sounds perfect. Kei shakes his head. “I told you, anything is great. You’re great,” he says, and pulls Yamaguchi’s forehead against his. “Whatever it is.”

Yamaguchi relaxes a little, at that. “It’s… it might be weird, Tsukki, I dunno.”

“But you want to?” Kei asks, earnestly.

Yamaguchi nods, shyly. “Yeah. Will you – will you? Let me.”

Kei kisses his lips as sweetly as he can. “Yes, Tadashi. Please.”

Yamaguchi sighs, finally reassured. Kei almost chuckles against his lips – Yamaguchi is often this way, so timid when he asks, but so certain when he takes. Once he knows that he can. 

Yamaguchi’s lips are smoother over his now, more determined – but then he stops. He moves off of Kei, shifting away on the bed, standing on the hardwood of the bedroom floor. He offers a hand, to help Kei up. Kei cocks a curious eyebrow at him, and a nervous chuckle escapes from Yamaguchi, insisting with his outstretched hand. Kei takes it, letting himself be pulled off the bed to his feet.

Yamaguchi pulls him close, hands falling to Kei’s waist. “Um,” he says, and his fingers grab the fabric of Kei’s sweater, the shirt underneath it. Yamaguchi’s eyes ask a question, and Kei nods and assists. The sweater and the shirt beneath it land on the bed in a graceless lump. Yamaguchi’s eyes drop to the fading bruise he left on Kei’s shoulder a week ago. He smiles. 

“Does it hurt, Tsukki?” he asks shyly, a fingertip circling the bluish skin carefully.

“I liked it,” says Kei readily, smirking. “You could do it again.”

“Can I?”

Kei nods.

Yamaguchi kisses him quickly, and then he moves to warm the skin of Kei’s chest with his hot breath, making Kei’s nipples taut. His fingers caress the pale skin of Kei’s collarbones, and he flits his tongue out to taste. Kei’s inhale is expectant, wanting. Yamaguchi kisses and teases, one hand coming up to thumb at a nipple. Kei sighs, and relishes the dancing goosebumps Yamaguchi has awoken.

Yamaguchi chooses a spot beneath Kei’s collarbone, and shifts all his focus there, licking and sucking harder than before. Kei’s breaths become less even, his sighs curling into soft moans. He’s definitely starting to note the swelling interest in his jeans. Kei’s hands move to knead the muscles in Yamaguchi’s back, to urge his greedy mouth even further. Yamaguchi bites the flushed inch of skin he’s been honed in on, and Kei yelps, softly. “Tadashi,” he says, delighted.

Yamaguchi pulls back, to grin at him. He admires his handiwork. “They’ll see, you know, Tsukki. In the club room.”

Kei pokes the spot gently – it’s definitely already bruising – and smirks. “Don’t care. I’m yours.”

“Kei,” says Yamaguchi, smiling into a heated kiss. Kei pulls him in close, as much contact as they can. Kei wants Yamaguchi to know how much he loves him, wants him – his skin, his hands, his mouth. Wants whatever Yamaguchi has promised to try, a something new. He’s getting properly worked up, and his hand sneaks down to grope at Yamaguchi between his hips. Kei is happy to confirm Yamaguchi’s growing arousal, as well. His palm rubs firmly over the rough denim and Yamaguchi groans into his mouth. “Want you so much,” he purrs.

They kiss closely, urgently, tongues caressing and hands gripping. Yamaguchi breaks away for a moment to remove his shirt, pulling Kei down to him and stuttering his hips against Kei’s when he returns. Kei hasn’t figured out why Yamaguchi wants them to be standing for this – surely they would have gotten more comfortable on the bed if that was part of it. He lets his mind wonder at it, but loses his train of thought with the way Yamaguchi’s fingernails are scratching over the flesh of his back, his hot mouth sucking at the skin of his throat.

“Clothes off,” Yamaguchi pants at him, suddenly, and then tempers it. “Please.” He moves to the button on his own jeans, and Kei mimics him, each of them watching the other remove their pants, and socks, and then, with a grin from Yamaguchi, their underwear. Kei’s curiosity almost spills into a question, as his underwear fly to land in a corner of the room, but he trusts his boyfriend, wants to be surprised. 

_It might be athletic,_ he considers. Kei hopes he’s up for it.

Yamaguchi gives him half a nervous grin, when they’re both standing naked in the middle of Kei’s bedroom floor, and then he kneels, moving in close. Kei cocks his head down at him. A blowjob would be lovely, but it’s not really new for them. Yamaguchi’s hands rub over Kei’s thighs, smoothing the skin with tingling fingers, leaning in to nip with his mouth. Kei’s anticipation has him feeling every sensation all the more, wondering what his boyfriend has planned.

Yamaguchi breathes hotly over the skin of Kei’s other thigh. “Love these, Tsukki,” he sighs. “You have incredible thighs.” His hand slides up higher, and he grasps Kei’s dick, pumping it lazily once, twice. “Can I taste you a little, first?”

_First?_ Kei thinks, bewildered. “Yeah, yes,” he grunts. Yamaguchi has an amazing mouth. “Please, I want you to.”

Kei’s moan when Yamaguchi’s lips close over him is breathy and satisfied. It’s so hot and wet inside his mouth, perfect. Yamaguchi’s tongue rubs his slit, teasingly. Kei gasps and hums, but he can tell Yamaguchi is being careful, slow. This isn’t the main event, not quite what he has in mind. He licks at Kei almost playfully, and Kei notices he’s touching himself, too, just a few unhurried strokes, to keep himself hard. 

Yamaguchi gives Kei one decent, slow suck – earning another groan from Kei, and a whispered “Tadashi” – and then he pulls back and looks up at his boyfriend.

“Um,” he says, and Kei knows they’re finally almost there, on the cusp of what Yamaguchi wants. Yamaguchi’s hands slide and rub over Kei’s thighs again, the backs of his legs. “D’you remember what Tanaka-san gave you for your birthday last year?”

Kei goes blank for a moment. _Why? What did Tanaka…?_ “Last – as a joke? A bottle of lube,” he says. His lips are suddenly dry. 

Yamaguchi’s gaze is shy, but steady. His voice is quiet. “Do you… still have it?”

Kei’s heart beats fast. “We need it?”

Yamaguchi blushes. “Maybe,” he says, noncommittally.

Kei remembers, with a flash. “Yeah, it’s in my desk drawer.” He bites his lip, torn about asking his next question.

Yamaguchi stands, and fishes for a moment. He finds it, toward the back. “Have you…?” he asks.

“Y-yeah,” Kei admits, although he’s not entirely certain about the specifics of Yamaguchi’s question.

“Oh,” Yamaguchi smiles. “Good.” He holds the bottle up, shy again. “Can I…?”

“Sure,” says Kei. He’s still not entirely aware of what he’s agreeing to. Yamaguchi was clear it’s not – they’re not going all the way, today. He’s pretty sure. “Um, what are we...” he trails off. 

“I saw it in a video,” says Yamaguchi, blushing again and crowding in close to Kei, fingertips caressing the outsides of his thighs, hips. “I don’t know exactly how it – how it works, but...” Kei waits for Yamaguchi to choose his wording, nudging his erection subtly against Yamaguchi’s hip bone. “But I want to try it.”

Kei is intrigued, curious, aroused. “Yeah, okay. Anything you want.”

Yamaguchi’s arm moves, and with just a tiny hesitation, he holds them both in one hand. Yamaguchi pushes his dick against Kei’s, moving skin against sensitive skin for an agonizingly sweet moment. Yamaguchi moans, and mumbles. “You’re so good… _feel_ so good, Kei.” Pushes against him again, with grasping friction to slide them together.

Kei pushes back, thrusting gently, but with anticipation. “Did you want to...” He looks down at the lube in Yamaguchi’s other hand, asking the question with his eyes. They’ve done this once before, too, but without lube, and laying on Yamaguchi’s bed. Kei wonders if adding lube is the part Yamaguchi means. 

“Um,” hums Yamaguchi, and the _mmmm_ stretches out as they slide together again. “I’m going to, okay?”

Kei nods, and Yamaguchi releases them both. Kei makes a noise, letting it fall from his lips, missing Yamaguchi’s touch. 

He watches hungrily as Yamaguchi drips a small amount onto his palm, coating himself with it, long twisting strokes. “Uh. Ready?”

Kei still has no idea what he’s being asked to be ready for, but he’s so in love with Yamaguchi, so happy to be trying something new for him, with him. His hands cup Yamaguchi’s face, and kisses him deep, meaningfully. “Please,” he whispers against Yamaguchi’s lips. 

Yamaguchi’s still-slick hand wedges in between Kei’s thighs, nudging them apart. “Open a little, Kei. Please.”

Kei complies, and Yamaguchi moves his hips, panting with anticipation. His lubricated dick slides over the sensitive skin of Kei’s inner thigh, and Kei gasps. 

“I wanna fuck your thighs, Kei,” he murmurs in a breathy whine. Kei’s many questions crystallize, the intention finally revealed. “Will you – can I?” Yamaguchi seems like he’s still nervous, but it’s overpowered by his desire, his need. He pushes on the outside of Kei’s leg, asking to tighten the space Yamaguchi occupies.

Kei is so hard, watching Yamaguchi’s face. He tenses the muscles together around his boyfriend’s erection, and it’s unusual and hot and slick, as he moans. “Yeah, Tadashi.” Yamaguchi starts to move, slow thrusts. “Yeah, I want you to.” He marvels at how odd it is, how unexpectedly arousing. His hands move to the curve of Yamaguchi’s lower back, to encourage the motions of his stuttering hips. 

They’re actually really well suited for this – Yamaguchi just short enough to stay below Kei’s groin, although Kei’s size is starting to limit the energy of Yamaguchi’s thrusts. “You’re so hot, Tadashi, keep going.” Kei keeps his thighs taut for Yamaguchi while he brings one hand back to his own dick, to move it out of Yamaguchi’s way. They both moan, and Kei strokes himself, in time with the quickening bumps of Yamaguchi’s hips against his thighs. 

“Kei,” Yamaguchi pants, hugging Kei’s hips, and Kei loves the need in his eyes, the evident enjoyment. “It feels good, Tsukki, you’re incredible...”

Yamaguchi tries to speed up, both of them needing more friction, more frenzy, but there are limitations to this in the position they’re using. Kei’s erection is definitely getting in the way, but neither wants the other to stop, to wait. The solution is offered by Yamaguchi, breathlessly. “I’ll try it from behind, yeah?” He looks for confirmation. “I saw them do it that way, too.” 

Kei nods, panting. “Yeah, anything.”

Yamaguchi quickly re-lubricates his hand, pumping over himself once, twice. Kei lets him get settled behind, and moans when he feels the cool-hot slickness of Yamaguchi sliding in beneath his ass, the curve of the head tapping his balls. “Oh fuck,” he breathes. It’s easy and too good, and they can speed up much better this way. He’s amazed it feels as good as it does. Yamaguchi’s hands grip Kei’s hips possessively, tight, wonderful. Kei strokes himself with one hand and reaches behind him with the other to grab Yamaguchi’s ass, pull him in with each eager thrust. 

Yamaguchi starts babbling. “Yes, Kei… need you. So good – so tight, keep it tight, Kei, _please_...”

“Tadashi,” Kei groans urgently.

“Hold me, please, Tsukki, both hands. I want to touch you...” 

Kei complies, his other hand grasping at Yamaguchi’s hip. Yamaguchi’s lube-slicked hand wraps around Kei’s shaft, pumping him wetly, and Kei whines with need. “Yes, Tadashi, _so_ good, yes –” 

Yamaguchi’s other hand grips Kei’s hip bruisingly hard, and his thrusts quicken even more. “Want you to come, Kei, I want to hear you come for me...” Kei’s thighs are so slick and tight from the repeated motions, and Yamaguchi grunts with each delicious slide between them. They’re sweaty and tangled up and lost, moving frantically closer and closer to release.

“I’m close, Tadashi, it’s so good – please don’t stop,” he pants helplessly, the sensations coiling high and tight. “ _Just_ like that, oh my god.”

Yamaguchi sucks and bites the skin nearest his mouth, the flesh of Kei’s shoulder. “Tell me, please, Kei, I want you to say it again...” He grazes his teeth over the same spot, and Kei’s moan is high and desperate, head rolling back. “Say it for me, Kei.”

Kei knows exactly what he wants to hear. “I love you,” he moans urgently, “I love you, I need you, I _love_ – _unghhh,_ I’m coming, Tadashi, ahhhh!” 

With a spurt of white that flies out of Kei, he comes loudly, tense and helpless, his tight hips shaking with the effort of staying closed for Yamaguchi, while his dick twitches and pumps out the rest of it over Yamaguchi’s unfaltering fingers. 

“Gonna come too, Kei, I love you, you’re amazing, your thighs are so good,” Yamaguchi whispers against the back of Kei’s neck, while the blond is still coming down from his own orgasm. Yamaguchi grips Kei’s hips even harder, thrusting firmly, his moans getting higher and higher. “ _Fuck,_ Kei, just like that, so good – _aghhhh!_ ” Another jet of cum streaks out from between Kei’s thighs, landing in a line on the floor and across Kei’s leg. Yamaguchi trembles and thrusts a few more times, but both of them are starting to feel shaky and overwhelmed by everything they just shared. 

Yamaguchi’s forehead drops against Kei’s shoulder blade, exhausted, and his spent dick slips out from between Kei’s thighs as Kei lets them rest a moment. Yamaguchi pants, holding Kei and kissing the sweaty skin of his back and shoulders, anywhere close to his mouth. Kei’s arms hold him too, embracing him awkwardly but sincerely. Kei turns after a moment, to wrap Yamaguchi up properly, pushing sweaty tendrils of hair out of Yamaguchi’s face. He cups his boyfriend’s jaw and kisses him, deep and satisfied. “I love you,” he says, smiling and waiting for his heartbeat to slow. “That was incredible, Tadashi.”

Yamaguchi kisses him back, lips happy and tired, and his arms wrap around Kei, sweaty and heavy and content. “Love you so much, Kei. I’m so glad we get to say it now.”

“Me too.” Kei lets the joy in his heart out through his eyes, and knows Yamaguchi can see it reflected there. Kei kisses him once more, because he can. “Lay on the bed. I’ll clean you up.”

Kei returns after a minute with a damp washcloth, and Yamaguchi makes soft, happy noises at him while he removes the evidence of their exploration from Yamaguchi’s groin, his own thighs and spent dick, and then the floor, re-wetting the cloth in between. 

“So sleepy, Kei,” Yamaguchi murmurs, and Kei grins.

“I know, I’ll be right there.”

He uses a dry towel to mop up the last of the mess on the hardwood, throwing everything into the laundry pile, and then climbs onto his bed to cuddle Yamaguchi close. He presses sleepy, contented kisses over Yamaguchi’s face, hands, shoulders – anything that’s easy to reach without much effort. Kei’s limbs are heavy.

“Gonna fall asleep, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi warns. “You’re so warm and nice.”

“I love you,” says Kei, kissing his forehead. He’s feeling very soft and sleepy, too, but something nags at him.

Right on cue, Kei’s phone dings, with a text.

Yamaguchi gropes for it on the nightstand, passing it to Kei and closing his heavy eyelids, snuggling against him.

His mother has texted him. “More snow here, Kei. Heard that the train home is delayed at least an hour and a half. Please make yourself dinner, Dad and I will get something on the way home.” A new message appears while Kei reads the first. “Akiteru says hi.”

Kei locks the screen and snuggles against Tadashi, clinging to him happily with a sigh. 

“What’d they say?” Yamaguchi murmurs.

“Not coming home until after dinner,” Kei says, and kisses Yamaguchi’s hair. “Let’s nap for a bit.”

“Love you,” Yamaguchi mumbles, and smiles drowsily.

“Love you too, Tadashi,” Kei replies. 

Yamaguchi is breathing deep and slow before Kei even thinks about shifting the covers over them both. He kisses the freckles on Yamaguchi’s cheeks, smiling when his boyfriend sighs happily in his arms.

It’s April, and their final year at Karasuno has just begun. Kei has a passing thought about Yamaguchi’s game from earlier, the enemy menacing the player through the screen, the clock ticking down. Kei thinks about telling Yamaguchi that he loves him when they wake up later, and again during dinner tonight, and on their snow-infested walk to class Monday. He thinks about hearing Yamaguchi say it to him in the heat of summer, in the breeze of fall. He thinks about the future, things he doesn’t know yet, things it’s maybe too soon to face. Beyond Karasuno, beyond Miyagi, years and years of hopeful ‘I love you’s to share, breathless or indulgent or whiny or sleepy or joyous.

He realizes Yamaguchi will be there for all of it – has to be. _Love is promise,_ Kei thinks to himself. He can’t think of anyone more worthy of keeping it with. 

He hums, reassured, and drifts easily off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops I wrote PWP whoops
> 
> ;P


	11. twenty-seventh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 11: mountains / dirty boots / oranges
> 
> **BokuAka | age 30-something | you'll see**
> 
> Chapter Rating: M (implied sexual content, major character injury)

_(twenty-seventh of july)_

Koutarou slams the hotel room door shut with a loud _bang_ and whirls around. His arms grab Keiji milliseconds later, and the force of it is something Keiji needs more than oxygen, so hot and desperate. Koutarou’s lips are skilled and ardent against Keiji’s; they’ve done this dance so many times, but every one is still so thrilling, so glorious. 

This one in particular burns very bright.

“ _Gold,_ ” Koutarou breathes, laughing, against Keiji’s lips. “We won _gold_ , Keiji.” His eyes are impossibly luminous.

“I know, I know...” Keiji trails off into a moan as Koutarou attacks his throat with his mouth. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Tell me I’m the best.” Koutarou teases an earlobe with his teeth.

“Oh, god, _incredible_...” Keiji is already coming undone. “The best in the _world_ , Koutarou.”

“I did it for you,” purrs Koutarou, his hips grinding into Keiji’s, against the wall. “I won for you.” Keiji whimpers. “Every spike, every point, only for you,” Koutarou groans, diving into another ravenous kiss.

“I love you,” Keiji moans urgently against his lips, and Koutarou’s hands circle under Keiji’s thighs, lifting him to slot Keiji’s hips around Koutarou’s waist. Keiji cries out, and twines his ankles. Koutarou backs them up to the wall, a gravity-defying position, pushing his eager erection hard against Keiji’s. They both groan.

“So _good_ , Keiji…” 

“I need you, I need you –” 

“I love you _so much_ , oh god...”

“Please,” Keiji begs, “please, I love you.”

Keiji’s feet don’t touch the ground as Koutarou walks them to the bed and drops Keiji onto it, landing on top of him half a breath after. They both sink into it gratefully, and begin hastily removing each other’s clothing to properly celebrate.

~

_(twenty-seventh of october)_

Keiji rushes through the doors, and hurries to the reception desk.

“Hello, sorry, I’m here to see Bokuto Koutarou? I’m his –” (Keiji pauses for only a second, out of habit; _it’s legal, it’s been years, there shouldn’t be a problem, there’s no reason to hide it_ ) “– his husband, Akaashi Keiji. Please, where is he?”

After a quick shuffling of papers on the desk, Keiji is given the room number and brief set of directions.

Minutes later, he’s found the door, and hurries inside.

“Keiji.” Koutarou’s eyes widen. “I told you not to take off work.”

“Nonsense,” Keiji dismisses, “I needed to be here. Your manager said...” he trails off, uncertain how to word it. His eyes fall instead to the awkward position of Koutarou’s arm. “What did the doctor say?”

“Waiting on the x-rays, but it’s probably my rotator cuff.” Koutarou shifts just a little and winces, inhaling with a sharp hiss and a stunted groan. 

Keiji flinches sympathetically. “I don’t think you should move it, Koutarou.”

“Yeah,” Koutarou nods, his face tensing against the pain.

A silence falls between them. Keiji pushes grey-and-black hair aside and leans in to press a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m here,” he says in a low voice. “Whatever it is, I’m here.”

~

_(twenty-seventh of october, later that day)_

“How’s the tea?”

Koutarou snorts a small laugh. “I keep reminding myself to pick it up with my other hand.”

Keiji frowns, says nothing.

The silence that hangs in the air of their apartment is thicker than usual. Keiji notices the way Koutarou’s torso has crumpled slightly, too much stillness in his usually-exuberant body, and with a sudden spark of recognition, Keiji’s high school days come back to him. _Dejected mode._

Keiji can’t just set him a rally-ending toss to pull him out of this, not now. _No one can, anymore,_ his brain reminds him sharply, _because his shoulder is…_ Keiji closes his eyes to banish the thought. It’s devastating, and Keiji almost wants to cry.

“I probably should’ve seen it coming, y’know?” Koutarou’s words are mumbled, quiet. “The coach was getting on my case about my crosses for a while now.” He turns to Keiji with a look that strikes him to the core, the deep sadness in his eyes gripping Keiji’s heart like a vice. “It’s my fault,” he says, nodding in defeat, and his golden eyes brim with tears.

“ _Koutarou,_ ” says Keiji, and he’s right there, instantly, pulling his husband’s lips against his own, hands cupping his face, thumbing his tears away. “We’ll get through this,” he says, insistent, trying to convince himself, too.

“Keiji.” Koutarou’s lip trembles heartbreakingly. “They said I’d probably never...” he sobs, losing the words.

“Shhh, shhh.” Keiji cradles him carefully, and his own eyes swim, overwhelmed. “We’ll deal with that, too. I promise. Whatever it takes,” he says, moving his mouth close to Koutarou’s ear to be sure he’s hearing him. “I love you so much.”

~

_(twenty-seventh of december)_

Their suite at the resort is huge, and there’s a private bathing room straight from the hot spring, along with a stunning view of the mountains. 

Keiji smiles, so he won’t bite his lip. “Isn’t it great?” he asks, anxious. “Two whole weeks.”

The suspense is awful, as Koutarou’s wide golden eyes take everything in. 

“The town is supposed to be very pleasant, and there’s the shrine for New Year’s, of course.” Keiji hopes he isn’t babbling too much. “We can stay in or go out as much as you like. And the seafood is caught daily, they told me.” He’s definitely babbling.

“It’s nice,” says Koutarou, nodding. He smiles at Keiji, warmly, but a little tight.

Keiji tries not to let his disappointment show when he smiles back. _I’ll just have to fight a little harder, that’s all._

He moves in close, hands seeking the warmth of Koutarou’s chest, his back. “And you get me all to yourself, as much as you want,” he purrs, “no work deadlines to pull me away.”

“Mmm,” Koutarou hums, with satisfaction, and he draws Keiji in for a lingering kiss. “You’re my favorite part.”

~

_(twenty-seventh of january)_

“I’ll get it down.”

Keiji’s hand shoots out, with alarm. “Koutarou – it’s too high – !”

The box drops forward suddenly, and Koutarou lets out a sharp yelp of pain as its weight falls hard against his injured shoulder.

“Koutarou!”

The box tumbles to the closet floor a moment later with a loud crash, some of the broken contents spilling out everywhere. 

Keiji’s hands rush to check, to soothe. “Oh, god, are you alright? Tell me where it hurts.”

“I’m fine!” Koutarou barks, angry, and in pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s my fault, let me get the ice pack –”

“I’ll get it myself!” Koutarou storms off, holding his shoulder and wincing.

Keiji drops his forehead against a lower shelf, squeezing his eyes shut and exhaling a frustrated sigh. Then he frowns, glancing down the hall toward the kitchen, and moves to start picking up the spilled contents of the box. 

~

_(twenty-seventh of march)_

“Maybe a cooking class?” Keiji rolls over to look at him.

Koutarou frowns. “Might be too vigorous for my shoulder.” 

“What about a garden?”

Koutarou pulls a face. “Too tedious.”

Keiji chuckles, and reaches for his husband’s hand across the bed. He pulls Koutarou’s fingers to his lips, kissing each knuckle reverently. “We’ll find something.”

Koutarou’s face darkens, suddenly, and Keiji immediately feels the shift in the air. He waits. 

“I miss it so much,” says Koutarou, in a quiet murmur. “The team, the games. Everything.”

Keiji sighs. “I know.” He presses a solid kiss to the palm of Koutarou’s hand, caressing over it with his thumb. He finds his husband’s eyes. “I know.”

They lie together quietly for a long moment.

“My boss joked that you should write a book,” says Keiji, smiling. “A memoir, even.” He glances over. “I told him there’s no chance you have the patience to sit and write for months.”

Koutarou’s head turns slowly, and he blinks. “A memoir.”

“It’s just a silly idea –”

“No,” says Koutarou, and a weird smile starts to take over his face. “It’s not.”

Keiji groans, and he pushes his face into the pillow. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’ll help me,” says Koutarou, and his eyes shine hopefully, locked with Keiji’s. “It actually sounds really fun, Keiji. I mean it.”

Koutarou’s smile is so real, so eager, lighting him up for the first time in months, and Keiji sighs heavily. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll talk to my boss.”

~

_(twenty-seventh of may)_

“Keiji!” Koutarou calls, repeatedly, from another room. “Keiji, Keiji, Keiji, Keiji...”

Keiji pinches the bridge of his nose, and smiles in spite of himself. “In my office, Koutarou. You know I have a deadline.”

“This is more important!” Koutarou’s golden eyes are full of eagerness, as his head pops through the door. “I need your help with this part. Come to the living room?” Keiji sighs, and Koutarou’s smile becomes apologetic. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

On the couch, in front of Koutarou’s sleek laptop that he barely used until recently, Keiji squints at the passages he’s written. “You’re writing about Fukuroudani,” says Keiji, brow furrowing. 

“Yeah,” says Koutarou, biting a lip to hide his excitement. “And about _us_ ,” he adds.

“Oh.” Keiji scans more carefully, actually somewhat impressed with the quality of the prose. He chooses a sentence to read aloud. “ _Every ace needs a solid setter to support them, one who can make use of their strengths and close the gaps of their weaknesses. Akaashi Keiji, however, was so much more than just a solid setter, even in his first year – he quickly became my friend, my partner, my better half, the one who knows me even better than I know myself._ ” Keiji’s mouth twitches into a smile, touched. He clears his throat. “You should make the verb tense agree, though – you’re talking about things that happened in the past, you shouldn’t switch to present tense here,” he says, pointing out the change in the line _‘the one who knows me even better than I know myself’_. 

Koutarou frowns, cocking his head in confusion. “But, Keiji, it’s still true, though. Why wouldn’t I use present tense?”

“Oh,” says Keiji, and he feels a blush bloom over his cheeks. “I guess it’s alright, then.” He scans the passages for another moment. “This is… this is good, Koutarou.”

“You think?” Koutarou’s eyes shine.

“Yes, of course. I would say if otherwise.” He leans over to kiss Koutarou on the forehead. 

“I want to write more about us,” says Koutarou, fidgeting somewhat. “Not everything, but… about the important stuff. Some of our big moments.” He glances at Keiji, nervously. “Would that be okay?”

Keiji has reservations, but he also knows it’s from years of things he probably shouldn’t worry about as much anymore. “How about this – you write it, and I’ll read over it, and let you know.”

“Keiji,” says Koutarou fondly, breaking into a grin. He kisses him on the cheek. “But what if I write a bunch of great stuff and then you won’t let me keep it?”

“Oh, I’ll keep it,” Keiji says, teasingly. “Maybe not in the book, but… Just for me. Just for us.”

Koutarou’s eyes widen. “Okay. Okay, good.”

Koutarou starts tapping away at the keyboard, adding new prose. Keiji rises, and knows he should return to his office, but he hesitates.

“You writing about Fukuroudani has me thinking, Koutarou.” He’s just a little careful, uncertain what the next thought might lead to.

“Mmm?” Koutarou looks up at him from the laptop.

Keiji furrows his brow. “You’re an Olympic volleyball champion. You never thought about coaching? Everyone would want you,” he says, watching Koutarou carefully.

Koutarou’s eyes crinkle and soften. “I thought about it too. I don’t think I’m good enough, Keiji.” Keiji rushes to protest, _of course he is_ , but Koutarou shakes his head, grey-and-black hair moving with him. “You were always better at analyzing in the moment than me, that quick thinking. At the pro levels, I just know I wouldn’t be able to keep up.” He smiles at Keiji, gentle and resigned.

Keiji feels the truth in his words, but he loves him too much to let him sell himself short like that. “It would mean getting to be on the court, again,” he says, wistfully, wanting that for Koutarou. Badly.

“I know,” says Koutarou, taking Keiji’s hand and kissing it softly. 

“What about… _not_ the pro levels?” asks Keiji, suddenly struck. Koutarou cocks his head at him. “What about… oh, goodness, what about children, Koutarou? Middle school, even?”

Koutarou’s face splits into an abrupt grin, and then a laugh. “Oh, man, can you imagine me coaching kids?”

“Yes,” says Keiji, and it’s such a good thought that he grins too, really wide, and nods with enthusiasm. “Absolutely I can.”

“Huh,” says Koutarou, smiling and considering.

“They’d _love_ you, Koutarou,” says Keiji. “You still _are_ a kid,” he adds, with a smirk.

“Keeeeiiiijjiiii,” Koutarou whines at him, objecting, but not really. His smile gets bigger. 

~

_(twenty-seventh of august)_

“Hey, hey, heeeey!!”

“COACH!” The clump of preteen boys breaks apart to rush Koutarou when they see him approaching, lit up with energy. The first ones to reach him wrap their arms around his legs, and the rest tackle in behind them, until Koutarou sways dangerously, threatening to topple over. 

“Koutarou!” says Keiji without thinking, but then, when he sees his husband still upright and laughing, the knot of boys clinging to him with glee, he lets himself smile too, and remembers the example they should set. “Please be careful, _Bokuto-san_.”

Koutarou just grins brightly at him, then turns to the kids. “Alright, that’s enough! We’ve got a lot of practice to get through today, but I brought a _surprise_ for the end. Who’s ready to start stretching?!”

The children cheer, releasing Koutarou’s legs and racing onto the court. Koutarou gets them arranged into a circle and starts playfully chanting counts, almost singing to the eager young players, adding silly words and making them smile through each set of stretches.

Keiji’s attention is pulled by the teacher-in-charge. “Akaashi-san, thank you for helping today,” says Takeuchi-sensei.

“Of course. We brought the bags of oranges for after practice.” 

“I’ve never seen this many sign-ups for a summer training camp,” says the teacher, watching Koutarou shouting joyously across the gym. “If we do this again next year, we might actually have to turn some away.”

“ _Now the other leg! And a-one, two, a-three-dee-dee, four!_ ”

Keiji grins, hopelessly enamored. He turns back to Takeuchi-sensei. “There’s something about him, isn’t there?”

“He’s _so good_ with them, Akaashi-san.” Takeuchi-sensei’s eyes are bright with happiness.

“He really is,” says Keiji, almost to himself, and feels the spark of something warm in his chest, an idea he hadn’t considered before. 

He’ll mention it to Koutarou later. For now, he focuses on getting all the oranges out onto the tables in the courtyard, with Takeuchi-sensei’s assistance.

~

_(twenty-seventh of september, over a year later)_

Keiji shuts the door to the little room, quietly as he can, and walks cautiously down the hall, feeling relieved. His steps take him to the entryway, where he finds the tiny pair of bright red mud-covered boots. He picks them up with a grin, taking note of Koutarou’s equally dirty pair of boots nearby, and shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. He carries the smaller pair to the utility sink they had installed shortly after moving in here, almost six months ago. 

Keiji washes the mud off, scrubbing a little in the stubborn spots, and finds a towel to wipe them down with, before he sets them to dry beneath the sink.

He starts to go back for the other mud-covered pair, but he is distracted by Koutarou’s voice, loud in the living room.

“Okaa-chan! I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier, I was outside with Aiko,” he’s saying, energetically. Keiji hurries into the room, a finger over his lips. 

Koutarou’s eyes widen when he sees Keiji, and he makes an apologetic face, tensing his shoulders slightly. “Oh, sorry, I’m too loud,” he whispers into the phone. Koutarou asks a silent question of Keiji with his eyes, and Keiji nods, turning his head to the hall, and the little room beside it. Koutarou nods and grins in understanding, pumping a fist in victory. “She just went down for a nap,” Koutarou says into the receiver, keeping quiet. Keiji smiles at him, warmly.

Keiji can hear his mother-in-law’s voice on the other end of the phone, although he can’t pick out the words. Koutarou sits down on the couch, and pats the seat next to him. Keiji sinks down gratefully, pulling his legs into Koutarou’s lap and listening in.

“Yes, she’s so sweet, Okaa-chan, three years old. We’re so lucky that we got her, and right in time for my birthday, too!” 

Keiji snorts quietly. The process took a long time, and they were on a list for months, so it’s really just a happy accident that the adoption was finalized on Koutarou’s birthday a week ago, but Keiji knows how endlessly delighted his husband was by the coincidence.

“Her name is Aiko, yes, I told you. No, we didn’t pick it, but we _love_ it. Yes, ‘child of love’, I know. We couldn’t be happier.” 

Keiji can’t fight the grin on his face, watching Koutarou recounting all the details for his mother’s benefit. He feels so _satisfied_ , at last – the darkness that hung like a cloud over their lives for so long following Koutarou’s forced retirement from volleyball finally retreating with the sunlight that Aiko has brought into their world. Like a puzzle piece they didn’t realize they were missing, finally clicking into place. Keiji cuddles closer to Koutarou on the couch, reaching for his free hand, to press a series of soft kisses all over it.

“No, it’s great – she calls me ‘Papa’, and Keiji ‘Otou-chan’. It’s adorable, Okaa-chan, you should hear her,” says Koutarou, grinning at Keiji.

More excited burblings that Keiji can’t make out.

“Of course you should come visit! We’d love you to meet her,” says Koutarou, glancing at Keiji, who nods an affirmation. 

Keiji gets lost in his own thoughts for a minute, the dizzy whirl of contentment settling into his bones. Keiji feels comfortable, _right_. The gears of the world moving synchronously toward the good in their lives, no matter the grind of the past. 

Keiji tunes back in to hear Koutarou saying “...yes, and the pre-orders for my book are very exciting so far. Keiji and I are talking with the publishers about signings and appearances right now, but of course I’ll get you a copy, Okaa-chan.” He winks at Keiji.

“Well, I should go, Keiji and I need to clean up and start on dinner. No, of course! Next weekend, yes, please do come. I love you so much. Okay, I’ll talk to you again soon. Bye.” He lowers the phone and hangs up. “Next weekend?” he asks, and Keiji nods.

“It’s no trouble at all, if she’s coming here,” says Keiji. “Work is slowing down for me for a while, and my parents are planning to visit the weekend after.” 

“Okay, great!” Koutarou’s smile is wide and easy, and the hand that Keiji is holding hostage squeezes Keiji’s lovingly. “Aiko loved the rain, by the way. She was screaming with laughter as we splashed through the puddles outside.”

“I know, you did a great job wearing her out for her nap,” says Keiji, and then his voice turns teasing, “and you left a mess in the entryway.”

“Oh! I did. I’m sorry.”

“It’s no trouble,” says Keiji with a chuckle. “I already cleaned her rain boots, and was going for yours when I overheard.”

“I can clean them,” says Koutarou, and he pulls on Keiji’s arm, until Keiji relents and lets his husband draw him into his lap to cuddle even closer together. He reaches for Keiji’s face with one hand, and their lips meet, warm and blissful. 

They stay like that for a long time, just cuddling and kissing comfortably, while the rain falls outside. 

“I love you,” says Keiji, when Koutarou’s lips travel to nibble at his neck, “but this is not getting your boots any cleaner.”

“Mmm,” hums Koutarou, “but I haven’t had a chance to do this with you for a while.”

“Do what?” asks Keiji, and Koutarou’s tongue gets a little more insistent, so Keiji hums his approval. Koutarou’s hands slide around Keiji, and push him into the couch, where Koutarou finds his lips again for a deeper, more heated kiss. Keiji’s hands start to meander, too, responding.

“Mmm,” hums Koutarou again, but this time, it’s an invitation. “Everything.” His hands climb up under Keiji’s shirt, teasing his warm skin. “I love you,” Koutarou breathes into the space above Keiji’s collarbone, and sucks on it gently.

Keiji is losing track of whatever he was supposed to chide his husband about, as his body starts to inform him of pressing impulses it’s having. “Koutarou,” he sighs, but tries to make it sound like a warning, “she’s asleep.”

Koutarou lifts an eyebrow, and murmurs, “Then you better be quiet, Keiji.” His fingers settle on the button of Keiji’s jeans, and Keiji’s hand darts out.

“Okay, okay, yes, _desperately_ , but not here, not on the couch.”

Koutarou’s forehead falls against Keiji’s stomach and he groans quietly, but he kisses Keiji once more and stands up to lead them both toward the bedroom. 

“I love you,” whispers Koutarou, as they tiptoe past Aiko’s door and down the hall.

“I love you,” says Keiji ardently, after he closes their bedroom door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt was gifted to me generously by my dear friend [Lookout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookoutol_mackeyisback/pseuds/lookoutol_mackeyisback), and I love and appreciate them SO MUCH.
> 
> I found the ten original prompts, but I felt like a BokuAka piece was missing, so Lookout kindly supplied the perfect additional prompt to finish out this delightful set of ficlets. <3
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for coming on this journey with me, and I hope you enjoyed them! <3 <3 <3


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